CIHM 

Microfiche 

Series 

(IVIonographs) 


Collection  de 

microfiches 

(monographies) 


Canadian  Inatituta  for  Hiatorical  Microraproductiona  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproductlona  hiatoriquaa 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  techniques  et  bibliographlques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 

0 Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 

□ Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommag^e 

□ Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restaur^e  et/ou  pellicui^e 

I      Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

I      Coloured  nwps/ Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


□ Bound  with  other  material  / 
Reiid  avec  d'autres  documents 

□ Only  edition  available  / 
Seuie  Mition  disponlble 

□ Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion  along 
interior  margin  /  La  rellure  serrte  peut  causer  de 
I'ombre  ou  de  la  distorsion  le  long  de  la  marge 
int^rieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restorations  may  appear 
— '  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have  been 
omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages 
blanches  ajout6es  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait 
possible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  6\6  filmtes. 

□ Additional  comments  / 
Commentaires  suppl^mentalres: 


L'lhstitut  a  microfilm*  le  nwitleur  exemplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
6\6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographiique.  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  image  reproduite. 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modification  dans  la  mMw- 
de  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 

I    I  Coloured  pages /Pages  da  couleur 

I    I  Pages  damaged/ Pages  endommagtes 

□ Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Pages  restaur^  et/ou  pellicul^es 

Q Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed  / 
Pages  d^iortes,  tachetdes  ou  piqu4es 

I    I  Pages  detached/ Pages  d^tach^es 

Showthrough  /  Transparence 

Quality  of  print  varies  / 
Quality  inigale  de  Hnpression 

□ Includes  supplementary  materiat  / 
Comprend  du  materiel  suppl^Riar  ^i.-^. 

j  1  Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscurec  by  errata  slips, 
' — '  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to  ui 're  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  totalement  ou 
partiellement  obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une 
pelure,  etc.,  ont  6\6  i\\m6es  h  nouveau  de  fafon  k 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 

I  j  Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
' — '  discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the  best 
possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant  ayant  des 
colorations  variables  ou  des  decolorations  sont 
film^es  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la  meilleure  image 
possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  tha  reduction  ratio  checked  below  / 

C«  documant  est  film<  au  taux  da  riduction  indlqu4  ei^saous. 


lOx 


14x 


18x 


22x 


12x 


16x 


20x 


24x 


26x 


30x 


28x 


32x 


The  copy  filmed  hart  has  b««n  raproducad  thanks 
to  th«  ganarosity  of: 

Stsuffar  Library 
QuMii's  Unl varsity 

Tha  imagM  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
pessibia  considaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  centroct  spodficationa. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papar  covars  ara  fllmod 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  iliuatratod  improa- 
sion.  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copias  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  inipras> 
sion,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  improaaien. 


Tha  last  rscordad  frama  on  sach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  symbol  — ^  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUEO  "I.  or  tha  symbol  ▼  (moaning  "END"), 
whiehavar  appliaa. 

Maps,  plataa.  charts,  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  too  larga  to  ba 
antiraly  included  in  ona  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  tha  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  at  many  framoa  at 
required.  The  following  diagrama  illuatrato  the 
method: 


L'exemplaire  filmi  fut  reproduit  grace  A  la 
gAnirosit*  da: 

StMiffer  Library 
QuMn's  Universfty 

Las  images  suivantes  ont  M  reproduites  avac  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nenet*  de  I'exempiaira  filmi,  et  en 
conformity  avac  lot  conditlona  du  contrat  do 
filmaga. 

Lea  axemplairea  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim«e  sont  film«s  en  commencant 
par  !e  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iliustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  io  caa.  Toua  loa  autrea  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmte  en  commen9ant  par  la 
premiere  paga  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iliustration  at  en  torminant  par 
la  derni«re  paga  qui  comporte  une  telle 
ompreinto. 

Un  dee  symbolea  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
derniire  imago  do  ehaquo  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  Io 
symbols  ▼  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartas,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  ptuvent  Atre 
filmts  i  des  taux  da  reduction  diffirents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  itra 
reproduit  en  un  soul  clich*.  il  est  film*  A  partir 
da  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  i  droits, 
tt  dt  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  la  nombre 
d'imegea  niceasaira.  Las  diagrammes  suivants 
illuatront  la  mithodo. 


By  WILL  BUMOBU 


The  Religion  of  Ruskin 

I-afltSre.  Ml  13.00 

Th*  BibUin  Skahspeart 

1^8*0,  omU.SO 


THE  RELIGION 
of  RUSKIN 

The  Life  and  Works  of  John  Ruskin 

A  Biographical  and  Anthological  Study 

■Y 

WILLIAM  BURGESS 

AmOtor  of  "Th*  BibU  in  Shakspeare," 
Ek. 

• 

Nbw  York 

Fleming  H 

LONOOII 


Chicago  Toionto 

Revell  Company 

AND  XDiMavaaa 


Copjnifht,  1907,  by 
WOUAM  BURGESS 


"To  my  Dear  and  Ethereal  Roakia,  whom  God  fnnm''~immrtf 
tio»  of  Thot.  Cartyk  im  m  ftM*  tnmnlti  to  JtaMn 


"Thtra  ia  aothiac  toing  on  among  na  aa  ootabit  to  ma  u  thoat 
fierce  lightning-bolu  Rualdn  ia  copioualy  aad  ilmiiilalj  pnMrii^ 
into  the  Made  wtnU  of  Anarchy  aU  around  him.  No  otiier  man 
b  Bnglaad  Oat  I  meet  haa  in  him  that  divine  rage  againat  iniquity, 
falsity  ai;d  baaenesa  that  Ruakia  hMk  Md  tfM  flVMy  mm  ni^hl  Is 
have."-.L#««.  fnm  Cmrl^  to  SmwMft 


"No  oOer  critic  erer  occupied  such  n  poaitioa.  He  •rprrtm 
thoughts  on  art  is  words  wUd^  is  tteir  ca«^ila  aiJiffaft,,n^ 
their  perfection  at  once  of  form  and  lucidity,  hare  been  rivalled  in 
our  generation,  only  by  Cardinal  Newman.  .  .  .  .  Hia  older  booka 
•re  among  the  treasures  of  the  WhUophiK  Ma  later  woffca  an 
pwcfaaaed  like  acarce  plates,  hia  opiaMM  at  fMlad  Hw  tato  fnm 
•  holy  book."— rjktf  SHtMor. 


3109751 


COJfTBJtn 


.is 


B«OK  L 


TBI  lax  or  Joan  Hvnm. 


1. 
& 

a. 

4. 

6. 

e. 


Buskin — Lecturer  Md  T«Mfc«r. 
Th«  BtUgioiM  Iliad  of  BaiUah 


tMUmr-An  Oritte  ud  ABthar. 


BMto-<3MMfco<d  Md  TMtk 
Wwitli  !>»  Mm. 


Bmb  IL  Blusiovi  Thouobt  nr  An. 

1.  Modm  PalMa%      L-Tmk  Md  CtaMnl  PriMlpiiik 
I.  >Mm  PkMM*.  y«|.  n^-VMk  ni  BMatjr  la  N«tn«b 
a.  MadMB  MatMb        IH^-OC  Mhv  TUafi  ia  AM; 
4  Modna  PiilatM%  T«L  lY   |»iwni,  B«aty. 

8.  Pre-IUpbaelitin^(Work  !•  Ait) 

7.  Giotto  and  Hie  Worke. 

8.  Elemente  of  Drewinx- 

9.  Eleneati  of  Perq^ective. 

10.  AddrcM  at  OcmbH^ 

11.  EUetory  aad  Ct;*leiaa  al  a.t 

12.  IiMtana  m  .>n 
lai  ThaBMMltat 

•Jd.  Ariadae  FlM«Btfaa.  (IhifniTiBg.) 

18.  The  Law*  of  Few>le.    (Elementary  priaetplee.) 

18.  Tie  Arrowi  of  tiw  Chaee.   (Vol.  I.  Art  Bdneatioa.) 

17.  The  Art  of  England. 

18.  Oar  IMwiB  Baf«  IWd  Ui.  (Ait  ia  OMotndoa.) 

Bmk  in.  Bmaioua  Liobt  nr  Aanmiactuai  am  ■ooiMom 

L  The  Poetry  of  Ardiitecture. 


CONTENTS 

a.  The  Stoats  of  Vwiw  9  Vols.  (AtchilMtim;) 

«.  Lactam  oa  AicUteetare  Md  Fkintaw. 

1.  Tht  Two  Path*.   (Art  and  MiiiMfaUn.) 

«.  Tbt  Study  of  Architecture. 

T.  Val  D'Ama   (Tutcan  Art) 

a  Aratrj  Pentelid.   (Elements  of  Sculptim.) 

t.  Mornings  iti  Florence.   (Stodka  U  Qit«««*—  Am.) 

1ft  St  Mark.  Rot  (V«iee.)  Alt). 

IV.  Rueiom  Snmnt  m  NAim. 

1.  Ethics  of  the  Dost  (Cryalili;) 

«.  The  Queen  of  the  Air. 

3.  Love's  Meinie.  (Birds.) 

4.  Deucalion.  (Minerals  and  Wares.) 
«.  Proserpina.   (Wayside  Flowers.) 

«.  The  Storm-aoud  of  the  Nineteenth  Ccatwy 

7.  In  Montibus  Sanctis.  (Mountains.) 

8.  Coeli  Enrarrant 

•.  Hortus  Indusus.  (Letters  to  Ladict.) 

10.  The  King  of  the  (Solden  River.  (A  Faiiy  Stoiy.) 

BookV.  PouncM.  EooKoify  and  Othh  Thikbs. 

t  ^,  ^*^Jf**'*^"-   ^Political  Economy  of  Art) 

«.  Unto  This  Last   (Political  Bwoomy) 

3.  Munera  Pulwris.  (The  Uws  of  Political  Bco««pV 

4.  Time  and  Tide.  (The  Laws  of  Work) 

r  Crown  of  Wild  Olive.  (Work,  Traffic,  War  ) 
Fors  Qangera.  (Utters  to  Workmen,  Etc) 

t.  Fiction  Fair  and  Foul  «woiV.  m»e.} 


Vt  KuaMrnr  LSI  Am  Pbtnr. 

1.   Sheepfolds.    (Christi»n  Nurture) 

t.  Sesame  and  Lilies.  (Lit>  and  Purpose.) 

3.  The  Pleasures  of  England.   (Leainli*  Faitk.  iw^v 

4.  Pneterita.  (Autobiofraphieal.)^ 


EXPLANATORY  NOTES. 


In  preparing  Book.  Ilto  VI  ol  thit  Aotholog,  the  writingB  of  itn«.  ku* 

V»^ed«  tite  chrooologKd  order  ol  the  work,  in  each  gro^  The 
thu,  find  the  propm  of  the  great  Author",  religious  mind  in  hi,  own 

Jlr^     '"^'""'j         p*w^  to  which  m  oSTS 

tached  lengthy  prefaces  and  appendices.  •* 

« Ji',  "'1*^''*'      the  following  selectioa.  i.  to  gi»e  ih.  ottne  and 

number  of  the  volume  at  the  head  of  the  chaptw.  ktlinc  tfa«  Author',  own 
paragraph  uumber  .tand  at  the  begaaing  of  cadi  «»Z>L.  m^^ZL^ 
further  reference,  at  the  end.  *  ^ 

if  S^i!I?SfL^"A°'-*il'~''™"  '*»^''  paragraphs  on  "Senaual- 

rty  Fatal  to  Beauty  m  Art"  The  numbers  21  and  24  are  those  of  RuJcitfToSm 
PWaphjng  and  this,  with  Pt  III.  Sec.  i.  Ch.  14.  puts  the  r^er  u^XS 
of  the  fdl  reference,  viz.:  Modem  Painters,  Vol.  II,  Part  III.  SKenul^a^ 
ter  14,  Paragraphs  21,  24.  <»vm^ 

quotation,  arc  ooatiiMoii..  the  rtfetcnees  to 
the  chapters,  etc.,  are  only  given  at  Ac  cad  (rf  Kvcral.  bat  the  MiiAcirar^ 
^ragraphs  are  always  given.  Thi.  ia  c«cdat|y  nodMe  of  Vol  IV 


In  sttU  other  inMance.  no  reference  is  needed  other  dm  Ike  a^te  id 
fte  paragraph  of  the  work  from  which  it  is  taken.  —  « 

It  must  be  underrtopd  dMt  the  toafcal 

Ruskin's. 


BOOKS  CONSULTED  IN  THIS  WORK 

Wofki.-   "Life  of  John  Ruskin,"  CoUingwood.  -T«4a 

JJfMS'^^  "J"''"  Social  Reformer.TTHoir 

An  Introdurtioo  to  Ac  Writing,  of  John  Ruskin,"  Vida  D.  Scudder.  "I^ 
to  the  Oergy,"  F.  A.  MaHcKm.  "Letter,  to  M.  G.  and  H.  G."  "Lettertof^ 
km  to  Cha.  Eliot  Norton."  "Modem  Men  of  Letters."  J.  R  fSSi  -St 
References,"  Mary  and  Ellen  Gihb*   "Art  and  Uft"  W  i  SSIdv  ^ 


PREFACE 

""J^!.^         °'  «>"»^«»  in  "Sesame  and  Lffief"  and 

or  One  otiKr  of  hit  tester  works,  of  which  there  are  numerons  reprints, 
mere  wmM  be  no  need  of  this  book,  and  its  publication  wo-.Ud  be  an  imperti- 
n«ice  But  of  theainions  of  intelligent,  educated  people,  how  few  there  ar« 
who  know  of  the  rieb  treuimt  whkh  ateond  ia  tlw  moiniiiieatal  works  of  ttus 
great  teacher.  ww     w  mw 

If  any  should  mistake  this  as  oflFering,  in  «qr  way.  a  substitute  fbr  the  gen- 
eral  study  of  his  works,  we  shall,  to  that  extent,  fail  in  our  purpose.  Very 
t«  r  ""^^  »  hoped  that,  whde  this  volume  will  direct  attention 

ence.  It  win  also  stmiulate  interest  in  the  writings  of  this  Master  of  English 
in  aU  their  great  sweep  of  intellectual  horizon. 

In  his  first  volume  of  Fors  Chvigera  Ruskin  hhnsdf  commends  the  work 
attempted  here   He  says:  "/  Have  always  though,  that  m^^^o^oflZ 
*uas,on  might  he  obtained  by  rightly  ehoonmg  and  ammgmg  whJ\SL!i 
*md.  than  by  painfully  saying  it  over  again  in  ant^,  awnw^" 

reli2L*Z^!Li^"J^J!j!l'"  *  '"'"^  **«  R«Wn's 

^^T^J^^^  teterpretations.  together  with  a  brief  histonr  of  hi,  life 
and  work    Indeed,  broadly  speaking,  the  entire  volume  is  biographical,  for  the 

Shakspeare  and  Carlyle.  and  even  Emerson,  who  is  so  near  to  us.  Our  s^ 
au!^.^  ?K  incidents  of  RusWn's  life  is  bat  an^ 

duction  to  the  fuller  revelation  of  this  unique  man.  to  be  iouadla  the  conm^ 
and  chronologically  arranged  anthotogy  whichfoflows  connected 

te.SerL'iri       *T       "'^  biographies  of  this  great 

MJJ  cwortmnties  to  st^^^  his  life  and  character.   But  this  volume  would 

•onal  life  of  the  man  whose  writings  it  presents,  and  we  vtiy  g]«l|y  acfaw^ 
edge  the  abler  pens  of  Mr.  W.  G.  CoUingwood  and  Mr.  FfBt  ftuSLT^ 

thJXV!^    .    '  "  adivirionof  theworkintosix  sections  or  "books" 

"SiSi^SatSrlS^yi  "l.*'""'"'  fiveTn!o%ro^.':V 
which  the  selections  are  taken.  This  arrangement  provides  forftS 
««ti«oous  mding  of  our  Author's  mind  on  many  subjects.  inste«l  of  L« 
Wtions  set  apart  under  some  general  heading.  Thus,  if  one^SL  .T!! 
•ecutive  reading  of  Ruskin's  wide  range  of  tS«ht  «  tU  SLitLl.^ 
"Beauty."  he  win  find  it  here  in  Book  second^  •* 

wwai  HOM  is  KMkVt  WOfi^r-tal  mora  ft   the  purpose  of  bringing  into 

Is 


*  PREFACE 

view,  ud  auldng  popularly  tniUbfe,  the  religious  and  moral  thouchu  of 
th..  ^eat  wnter.  For  it  should  be  known  that  every  subject.  how«S?SSdS 
.ts  character  or  technical  its  study,  appealed  to  him.  primify^lZT^ 
«pects.  Art  m  .11  its  many  forms  interest,  him  firsPJIHttS  «SILIto« 
of  some  ethical  or  moral  truth.  Whether  he  write,  of  the^d  S  tlTn"  w 
school  of  painters;  or  of  wchiteclore.  or  .culpture;  or  if  he  travel.  «o  thT 

.Tk^  tt'ht  rv'^'?-"'  P*'"""'  economy!  anXmt 

take  their  root,  or  find  their  center  in  religion. 
RiMtaii  I.  .tngularly  and  .trikingly  the  prophet  of  his  times,  who  wrote 

Jradir^^J"  *f'  °'  P™»-P«>^.  ««i     •  form  tiat  c« 

readily  understood  and  appreciated. 

r„»^^i'^?.T",'  '"P«t»'  •t'onger  «id  more 

rugged  but  his  language  was  often  grotesque  and  unfamiliar 

arate"?rom  'Z  *°  *        ^^^''^  «i«««ct  and  sep- 

arate from  the  experience,  and  value,  of  life.  It.  relation  to  religion  was 

and  no  touch  of  sympathy  with  life  as  it  is;  but  was  formal  and  severe  or 
else,  merely  the  expre..ion  of  ideal  saints  and  imaginary  anirels   In  laia  « 

t';;t5°:2u™'r^l?'^"*?^""  organised  to  break  down  th«e  fafs"e  t,ndt 
ards  and  return  to  the  simplicity  and  naturalness  of  true  art  To  this  move- 
ment  Ruskin  gave  his  able  support,  and  it  is  very  largely  tto«Jh  the"nX 
ence  of  I..-,  powerful  advocacy  that  the  best  of  ihe  .chJol  oHrtists  of  h^i 
ST/t^V    '  "  Thus.  Turner  owed  every- 

;S«!lv  h  '^'T''  »«ch  artisu  «.  Holman  Hunt.  Ro.setti.  and  Millais  were 
eTedVi™  h  fl  ^^-'^  heartily  disliked  and  openly  dis! 

R«W«"?fi^^'S. f  Bible  illustrations, 

f  J-  ««"«er«««  to  fundamentals  in  religious  truth,  through  all  the 
changes  of  his  experience  and  faith,  is  the  golden  thread  in  thi  web  of  his  life 
His  constant  appeal  to  the  Scriptures,  a.  of  final  and  unquestionable  wthSri^ 
IS  the  more  remarkable  ,n  view  of  his  intellectual  environment  and  of  hi.  reJS* 
from  the  orthodoxy  of  his  time.  Indeed,  here  i.  the  expl««t.wCun  ^rm 
use  of  simple  and  vigorous  English.  He  built  upon  the  Bible  which,  with  th" 
work,  of  old  Engl«h  divine.,  .uch  u  Hooker  and  Bunyan.  vari^  J  h  hi! 

X'^S'!!r*ri'^"^*^r'''  '"^^'^  «rly  reading. 

The  «)int  of  the  age  was  the  expression  of  materialistic  philosophy  reore- 
.ented  by  .uch  men  a.  Darwin.  Tyndall.  and  Spencer.  These  directed  tSSr 
great  powers  of  research  to  the  purely  material.  In  this  they  rendered  great 
seryure  to  the  human  family  and  no  protest  would  be  called  for.  if  that  were  all 
that  IS  claimed  for  them.  But  when  their  teachings  are  treated  aiTan.TSng 

L.      k"*.       '  only  not  equipSef 

^l^'^i^T        *°  appreciate.   Concentration  of  ga«e  J  pon 
one  object,  or  .«t  of  object^       always  a  tendency  to  limit  the  vision  evw 

FaitTTf  « *°  ^'^  S^'*""  of  Astronomy  or  the 

FMth  of  Religion  His  mmd  was  wholly  turned  earthwardM-tH.  fcw«» 
offered  no  revelation  to  him;  hi.  eye  wa.  not  directed  heavSwIrflr^ 


PREFACE 


But  Ruskin'i  mind  wu  many-sided.  He  looked  into  all  Nature  and  his 
soul  was  not  bounded  by  his  intellectual  enTtronment  His  persistent,-  unal- 
lered  doctrine  was  that  "Man's  use  and  function  is  to  be  the  witnesa  of  HM 
glory  of  God,  and  to  advance  that  glory  by  his  Kuonble  aad  fMvltaal 


Not  only  was  Ruskin  an  intervrctar  of  Scr^tare  troths  in  the  same  sense  as 
was  Dant^  Shakq^eare,  and  other  writers  who  embodied  them  (often  uncon- 
sciously) in  their  dramatic  and  poetic  works.  He  was  emphaticaUy  and  pur- 
posely a  Bible  teacher;  as  n.och  so  as  any  theological  professor.  Hzy.mortto, 
for  although  he  did  not  profess  any  theological  system,  his  works  are  a  veritable 
Bible  university,  in  which  tiie  Scriptures  are  profoundly  studied  with  purpose 
and  are  illumined  by  the  of  tht  imK  ichotmh^  the  dccMbt 
and  a  very  devout  spirit 

Ut  the  reader  spend  an  hour  witii  oar  exeerpta  from  Modem  fainters,  and 
^««*>>"  fco";  with  TV  Seven  Lamps,  and  again  with  T  .<  Siones  of 
Veniee;  let  Ua  observe  how  tbe  numbered  paragraphs,  here  given,  invite  him 
to  tauj  others  in  the  works  of  tiieir  author,  for  a  vast  fund  of  instruction 
m  Biblical  truth,  such  as  he  may  search  for  in  vain  in  whole  theological  libra- 
ries. Here,  indeed,  the  Scriptures  are  studied  in  the  light  of  Art.  Science,  Nature, 
History,  and  last  and  best,  of  Moral  Philosophy  and  Spiritual  peiv^tion;  and 
then,  finally,  are  presented  and  illuminated  by  a  deameu  of  style,  an  rlnmiiiiM 
and  poefaT  such  aa  ia  not  snrpaiised  in  all  Uie  literary  world. 

The  labor  fanrahrcd  in  Ob  wont  haa  not  been  li^  although  very  enjoyabhu 
It  woaM  ham  baen  nndi  caaier  to  have  adccted  tome  theme  and  written  an 
equal  mmiber  of  ptgea  of  original  natter.  But  it  is  not  new  books  that  the 
world  needs.  We  have  more  than  enooffa^  wdcaa  ana  conMa  aa  •  Voiei  Mali> 
ing  a  new  message  to  the  World. 

What  is  needed  by  many  a  teacher,  and  we  tiiink  also  by  nuoy  a  preacher, 
is  an  open  sesame  to  the  mines  of  intdlectual  and  ^ritual  wealth  which  resides 
i«  the  literature  of  the  greater  geniust:.  The  one  thing  attwnptad  here  it,  to 
give  to  tiie  average  reader,  a  key  to  what  ia  r<«ttat  md  bast  in  obl  at  kut 
of  tiie  Master  Minda  of  Oe  worWs  Literattrre. 

The  writer  doea  not  ndertake  to  prove  that  Ruskin  experienced  no  break 
m  his  rdigiooa  faith.  On  Ae  cor.trary,  it  is  shown  in  chapter  VI.  of  tiie  accom. 
panying  sketch  of  his  Ufe,  tiii^  Mch  v^erience  was  his,  in  very  real  snd 
stormy  form. 

But  if  tiie  reader  will  follow  tiie  sdections  in  the  difon^i(ieal  erd«  In 
which  they  are  here  placed,  as  wdl  as  tiie  chivtcr  referred  to  abov^,  he  wW 
I  think,  find  tiia;  Ruskin's  mind  was  em  reverent;  and  that,  even  when  i 
intellectuality  refused  to  recognise  the  orthodox  dassifications  .  i  utteran. 
of  evangelical  religion,  and  wUh  the  daricest  ahadow  hung  over  his  soul,  his 
"Malbeuig  turned  alw«|«  to  tht  Tntb  «f  God  «ad  tha  Blemd  ffiaiiiHa  i  of 
tht  dmitiaa  religion.  * 


BOOK  FIRST 


Life  of  John  Ruskin 


LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


BUSKIN— CHILDHOOD  AND  YOUTH. 

Th«  child  la  father  of  the  imax."—Wordtvorth. 

cJ^'SlI^A^  ^^^'^t  US  Shakspeare,  Milton  and  Bacon  has  been 
oaHed  the  go  den  age"-the  crown  of  aU  the  ages  for  literary  eplen- 

years  of  the  nineteenth  century  the  '  W  which  appeared,-if^X 

Se  f  ^*  "^"^  ""^^^  ffin  place  2 

thewor  d'e  illiunination  that  has  never  been  surpassed 

en^*^  h""  No  grander  group  of  men  and  women  ever 

l^ll^of^'^.^"^''^'.  B-kingdorSt?;^^ 
Mbto  ijaHs  of  wpewtition  and  ignoiwice  and  bearing  4he^nJ 

L^Moody  Joseph  Parker  «d  n«.y  more;  «,d  leading  in  womiS. 
3  a  LTS.^'^IS!  ^^^Elirabeth  Pry,  PlorenAighJ(SI 
Tn^i.      ,  Josephine  E.  bSiw 

Lo^^'^.^t^'TT*^  '^rr^  W«*worth,  Whitti^, lonSw. 
l^well,  Bryant,  Hemans,  Havergal,  and  the  Brownikgi;  toffol 


4  THE  REUaWN  Of  RVBKIV 

«nl  litwttaw  8oott,Oooper,  Klngiley,  Thackeray,  Dickens,  Eliot,  and 
ill  that  of  •cience  «uch  men  as  Tyndall,  Huxley,  Mill,  Bain  and  Spen- 
cer.* Y«t  higher  than  theae  among  the  world's  teachers  and  inter* 
pnleif  ftMid»-Jolin  RnkiB.  *^  acclamation,"  eayt  Dr.  Hffli^ 
"we  vote  Ruskin  the  first  proee  writer  of  his  century."*  "Other  men 
M«  greater,"  eaya  Fiof.  Vida  D.  Scudder,  "stronger  in  «hoaght» 
more  balanoed  in  eharae«er,  mightier  in  creative  pow«r»  tat  no  out 
has  turned  upon  the  complex  modem  world  a  nature  more  keea 
in  appreciative  insight,  more  many  sided,  sensitive  end  pure."* 

John  Rnskki  wm  bom  in  Londcm,  Fslmury  8,  1819,  «f  SeetaK 
parentage.  In  his  earliest  years  he  gave  promise  of  a  rare  and 
unique  personality.  Mr.  Fred  Harrison,  his  long-time  friend  and 
one  of  his  biographers,  speaks  of  him  as  *Him  miraculous  infant," 
and  truly,  his  infant  genius  is  one  of  the  marveb  of  his  life.  Mr. 
Harrison  tells  how  Buskin's  mother  used  to  sing  to  him  the  old 
nursery  Unes:— "Hosh-a-by  bstoy,  <m  ihe  tree-top";  and  even 
•s  an  infant,  he  objected  to  the  bad  rhyme:  "When  the 
wind  blows  the  cradle  will  rock."  John  was  a  babe  of  four  when  • 
celebrated  artist  (Northoote)  painted  his  portrait.  The  picture  of 
a  chubby  child  in  white  frock  end  blue  sash  now  hangs  in  the  din- 
ing room  at  Brantwood.*  When  the  painter,  pleased  by  his  patience, 
asked  what  he  woold  like  m  a  baekgroond,  he  replied,  "Blue  hills.'* 
At  the  same  age,  it  is  recorded,  that  he  "wrote  with  a  clear  hand, 
spelling  correctly,"  and  even  before  this  he  preached  a  sermon  to 
his  playmates  nYA^^-  B4r.  Harriscm  has  ihong^  to  be  worth  !»•• 
serving: — "People,  be  dood.  If  you  are  dood,  Dod  will  love  you, 
if  you  are  not  dood,  Dod  will  not  love  you."*  The  child's  first  let- 
ter bean  «  postmark  which  Aam  it  was  written  when  ha  was  jail 
tamed  four.  We  are  tdd  tibat was  cnxeet  and  iuttaiaL"' 

*  "Spondie  SKtt  men  come  everywhere.  Bnt  for  a  eommanity  to  get  Tibrat- 
lai  tbnragh  and  tbroagh  with  intensely  aetiTe  life,  iiany  geniuses  ooming  together 
and  in  rapid  sneoeasion  are  required.  This  is  why  great  epochs  are  so  rare,— why 
the  sudden  bloom  of  a  Greece,  an  early  Rome,  a  Renaissauce,  is  such  a  mystery. 
Blo«  must  follow  blow  so  fast  that  no  cooling  can  occur  in  the  Interral^  Than 
the  maaa  of  the  nation  growa  Ineandescait,  and  may  coBtiam  to  slow  by  pue 
inertia  long  after  the  origioaton  of  ita  tntMaal  aMvamut  taw  paawd  away. 
"TAe  WtU  to  BeUeve."  Prat  W.  JasM. 

*  Oreot  Book*  a*  Lite  Teaehtn. 

*  "John  Ru$lei»:  Introduciio*  to  BU  WHHnii." 

*  An  excellent  copy  of  this  pictoM  adMai  «ke  XMto  tiUkm  «t  Omof 
nood'a  Life  of  Roakin.    (2  toIs.) 

BaaktB.**  1^  Vfadariek  narriaoa. 


TBE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  j 

Oomngwood  tells  «  that  M  ft  child  RotUn  "wu  ft  bookworm 
•ud  the  book*  he  iMd  m  cboMo     fftforitM  from  n  ereedal 
interest  m  the  subjects,  an  interest  whkh  arose  from  his  character 
of  mmd.   But  he  woe  no  milksop  or  wMkliag;  he  was  a  bright, 
active  lad,  full  of  fun  and  pnmks,  not  without  eompanions,  though^ 
solitary  when  at  home."  ....  "He  was  so  little  afreid  of  animal* 
that  he  must  needs  meddle  with  the  fierce  Newfoondland  dog  "Lion ' 
irfiich  bit  himinthemoBlhftndapoiWWslooki.  Another  time  hi 
Jowed  some  address  in  extricating  himself  from  the  w«ter-butt. 
He  did  not  fear  ghosts  or  thunder,  instead  of  that  his  early  devel- 
oped  hmdscape  feeling  ahowod  itself  in  dread  of  foxglove  dells  and 
dark  pools  of  water."  ....    "At  the  age  of  seven  ha  k«t  •  ■ 
diary  with  much  literary  skiU  and  ngokrity,  oontftiainciwT 
accurate  descriptions  of  places  which  he  visited,''^ 

At  the  age  of  seven,  also,  this  young  prodigy  planned  the  cmblieft. 
twn  of  a  set  of  four  volumes,  of  which,  however,  he  only  completed 
one,  tiie  whole  of  which  he  tells  ns,  "tso.  written  and  printed  m 
tmttahon  of  book-print."  This  volume  oontaiued  his  first  sis. 
dated,  poems  and  also  a  sketch  which  he  says  was  his  first  effort  «fe 
mountain  drawing »  A  copy  of  the  title-page  of  this  volume  is  given 
in  J^terita  and  also  some  pages  of  extracts  from  it.  A  single  pas- 
Mgewill  serve  to  indicate  the  mental  powan  of  tha  "nixaoakas 


h„t  ^VF  T?"       It  WM  and  w«rt  on  with  his  drawing 

but  Lucy  soon  called  him  away  and  bid  him  observe  a  ereat  Wacf 
fci  electrical.  Han^       for  ^ 

ekctooal  apparalos  which  his  father  had  given  him^d^e  SoS 

SSfTfr?  w«rF.r*"?  and  then  a  long  train  of  emaSuJ 

ones  but  before  this  cloud  came  a  flash  of  liehtninff  «m 

dart  through  the  cloud  of  dust  upon  S^eTS  cteSdZJd 

ttl&  iCl^TSP?*?  ^  """^  «»e  surpriselSxrybeS 

hk  *  rising  mist  under  it  wL^ch 

K2L?^i2?u*7fi?*"'™«^       *  ^o™.  He  then  remeS 

b«od  ^e  witch  of  the  waten  of  the  Alps  who  was  raised  from  Xm 

n^US?"**  """^  an/throwing  it  into  thV  Sr  mS 

2^22'^**™*  nnintelligible  words.  And  though  it%J»  a  ta£^ 
affected  Bmry  wm  whan  he  snr  la '  Jm  «ioii&  «methisg  liffk^ 


'PntMUa.  T«L  I. 


6  TBS  RMUQIOV  Of  BVBKiN 

Theae  extnots  an  printed  in  Pimlwite  irith  imtttlloM  «f  llit 
original  diviaioos  of  line  and  three  "TariAtiona  of  lixe  in  imitation 
of  type,"  and  notwitihitanding  that  "punctuation  ia  left  to  the  read- 
er'a  kind  conjecture"  thia  ia  aaen  be  •  ftmaikablt  Utanij  pio* 
duction  for  a  child  of  eeven.  Two  yeara  later  he  wrote  a  poem 
which  he  called  "Eudoria,— On  the  Univem."  Thia  poem  waa 
wrHten  in  220  linea  and  la  dated  September  88.  1828.  A  dB|^ 
,  -wfll  aam  bwa  to  Am  fla  ehamelar  and  maril: 


"I  liiif  Um  PiM.  which  cMhM  high  Switscr'a 
And  high  enthroned,  grows  on  •  rocky  bed. 
On  galphu  M  deep,  on  elilfe  to  high. 
Be  that  would  dtre  climb  them,  daree  to  die. 

It  waa  about  thia  time  that  he  wrote  the  famoua  aentenoe:—  "  Tia 
vice,  not  war,  iha*  ia  the  curae  of  man." 

At  eleven  young  Ruskin  was  taught  Latin,  at  twelve  French, 
and  it  wee  now  that  he  began  to  ace  Nature  with  the  eyea  of  Turner, 
the  great  artist,  he  (Turner)  being  about  sixty  yean  of  age.  M 
fifteen  Ruskin  wrote  an  essay  on  "The  geologic  strata  of  Mont 
Blanc"  which  was  published  in  Loudon's  Magaane  of  Natural 
History"  (1834).  At  thie  thne  he  posaeaaed  quite  an  impoftant 
oolleotion  of  geologic  epeciment  which  he  increased  by  hia  own 
induatry  in  ais  wanderings  at  Matlock,  CTlifton,  or  in  the  Alpa. 
Ha  earned  enough  money  by  "scribbling"  to  indulge  also  hn  the 
purchaae  of  anything  that  struck  his  fancy.  He  was  a  veritable 
interrogation  point,  asking  questions  that  nobody  cared  to  answer, 
and  engaging  in  controversy  against  all  aorta  of  thatniMa  and  itata> 
ments.  "The  analytic  John  Buakin,"  aaya  Hairisoii,  "waa  aa 
enfant  terribU."^  ,   

At  aeventeen,  ha  wrote  a  maaterly  article  in  praise  of  Turner,  and 
ably  attacking  that  great  artist's  critics.  Thia  was  written  in  1836 
and  has  been  preserved  in  manuacript.  As  a  i^imen  foreword  of 
Ruskin's  litoary  work  Mr.  Haniaoa  quotea  th«  following  showing 
astiMt  fram  tlwtaitiflla: 

iRoaUa  hlmasU  makca  ao  daim  te  ialtat  fMiaa.  Ha  gaja:— "None  ondt 
esieted,  except  that  patience  to  looking.  »M  vnM  im  ttMag,  *U*^*««^«'*' 
with  doe  indoatfy.  fofmad  mj  analytie  P«~r.  bi  aU  aaMotial  aoalWea  of  g«inj, 
•icept  theae,  I  waa  Mdaat:  ay  aaaten  only  of  aT««at  power.  1  hajo  Ht- 
•rail,  ncTer  known  a  okiM  ao  twbia  of^ting  a  g^.  or  telUng  .^.te  On 
the  oAer  hand.  1  hm  nam  knows  oaa  wtaaa  thlnt  far  fl«hla  fact  waa  at  once 
go  eager  and  ao  mitMUirT—Pmtrtta,  Oh*th  & 


THE  UFE  OF  JOHN  RVSKIN  y 

"Hii  (Turner*!)  imagination  ia  Shakespearian  in  ita  mightiness. 
.  .  .  Many-colored  mists  ore  floating  above  the  distant  city: 
but  such  mists  as  you  miebt  imagine  to  he  ethereal  spirits,  souls  of 
the  mighty  dead  breathedout  of  the  tombs  of  Italy  info  the  blue  of 
her  bright  heaven,  and  wandering  in  vague  and  in&iito  glorr 
around  the  errth  that  they  lukve  loved.  Inslinct  with  tlM  bestt.  ' 
of  uneutain  light,  thev  movt  and  mii^e  among  the  pale  stars,  an^ 
rise  op  into  the  brigbtneH  of  the  illimitable  heaven,  whose  soft, 
■id,  blue  eye  gazes  down  into  the  deep  waters  of  the  sea  forever — 
that  Ki  whose  motionless  and  silent  transparency  is  beaming  with 
phosphor  light,  that  emanates  out  of  its  sapphire  serenity  like  bright 
dreams  into  tLe  spirit  of  a  deep  sleep.  And  the  spires  of  the  glorioua 
city  rise  indistinctly  bright  mto  those  livine  mists  like  pyramidi 
of  pale  Are  from  some  vast  altar;  and  amidst  the  glory  of  the  dream 
there  is,  as  it  were,  the  voice  of  a  multHode  enmring  by  the  eye, 
•rising  from  the  stillnesi  of  the  oity  like  tiie  summer  wind  passing 
over  the  leavea  of  the  foreet  whra  a  murmur  ia  heard  amidst  their 
multitude." 

At  eighteen  Ruskin  entered  the  Oxford  University,  and  he  had 
"already  seen  more  of  England  and  the  Continent  than  most  sys- 
tematic tourists,  and  observed  and  thought  about  all  this,  perhapa 
more  than  any  living  man.  He  had,  no  doubt,  written  moreproeeaml 
verse  than  is  recorded  of  any  man  of  his  yeare." 

A  sketch  of  the  life  of  sudi  a  youth  would  be  manifestly  defective 
which  omitted  all  mention  of  his  love  affairs.  The  father  of  our 
author,  John  James  Ruskin,  was  a  London  Wine-Merchant  who 
possessed  great  business  sagacity,  ar  1  although  at  the  start 
heavily  handicapped,  succeeded  in  amass  g  considerable  wealth.' 
His  partner  was  a  Frenchman  (M.  Domecq)  who  conducted  the 
Paris  end  of  the  business  firm. 

In  the  year  1836  M.  Domecq  took  his  daughters,  four  in  number, 
to  England,  to  visit  the  Ruskin's  at  their  home  in  London.  John 
was  now  seventeen  and  Adele  Domecq  waa  a  graceful,  gay  and  beau- 
tiful girl  of  "*oen.  What  more  natural  than  that  the  fervid,  poetic, 
young  Ruf  should  fall  "head  over  heels"  in  love  with  Adele? 
Hie  follow  g  interesting  sketch  is  quoted  from  CoUingwood  as 

»  "My  father  began  bnainen  as  a  wine  merchant,  with  no  e«p!t))I,  and  a  con- 
sid(>rable  amount  of  debt  bequeathed  him  by  hia  grandfather.  He  accepted  the 
bequeat  and  paid  them  all,  before  he  began  to  Uy  by  anything  for  himself  for 
which  hia  beat  frienda  oUM  hia  ft  fool,  ud  I,  without  espreaaing  any  opinion 
aa  to  hia  wladom,  which  I  kaaw  i j  radi  nuittan  to  bt  at  Icaat  aqoal  to  mine,  have 
written  OB  tha  iraaita  wUb  am  his  gacn  thMt  hs  wm  atiMly  ~ 
f^f'—Rmtkin  t»  Fon,  Vol  1,  p.  JU. 


8 


THE  RELIQIOR  OF  BVSKIN 


nmch  lot  the  portmitan  whidi  k  voatains  w  for  ihe  lore  aflhir 
whidi  it  records: 

"Adele  ibewitched  him  at  once  with  hw  graoeful  figure  and  that 
oval  face  which  was  so  admired  in  those  times.  She  was  fair,  too, 

another  recommendation.  He  was  on  the  brink  of  seventeen,  at 
the  ripe  moment,  and  he  fell  passionately  in  love  with  her.  She 
was  only  fifteen,  and  did  not  understand  his  adoration,  unspoken 
and  unexpressed,  except  by  intense  shyness;  for  he  was  a  very  ehy 
boy  in  the  drawing-room,  though  brimming  over  with  life  and  fun 
among  his  schoolftllowB.  And'  yet  he  powessed  advantages,  if  he 
had  known  how  to  use  them.  He  was  tall  and  active,  light  and 
lithe  in  gesture,  not  a  clumsy,  hobbledehoy.  He  had  the  face  that 
caught  the  eye,  in  Rome  a  few  years  later,  of  Keats'  Severn,  no  niean 
judge  of  poets'  faces.  He  was  undeniably  clever;  he  knew  all  about 
minerals  and  mountains ;  he  was  quite  an  artist,  and  a  printed  poet. 
But  these  thin^  weigh  little  with  a  girl  of  fifteen  who  wants  to  be 
amused:  and  so  she  only  laughed  at  John.  He  tried  to  amu&e  her 
.  .  .  .  but  the  note  of  passion  was  too  real  for  the  girl  and  she 
only  laughed  ihe  more."* 

Of  course  the  young  man  wrote  poetical  effusions  to  the  fair  Adele. 
He  tells  us,  in  Prseterila:  "I  dared  not  address  my  sonnets  straight 
to  herself;  but  when  she  went  back  to  Paris,  wrote  her  a  French 
letter,  seven  quarto  pages  long,  descriptive  of  the  desolations  and 
solitudes  of  Heme  Hill  since  her  departure." 

We  may  get  a  glimpse  of  the  love  verses  of  this  gifted  youth,  as 
they  were  printed  in  Friendship's  Oflfering  at » later  date.  A  ttn|^ 
verse  will  serve  to  note  the  style. 

"I  do  not  ask  k  •ingle  tear;  bnt  wkllt 

I  linser  where  I  must  not  stay, 
Ob!  gin  BM  bnt  •  parting  nnile 

To  Ufbt  me  on  my  Jonelj  way." 

But  the  course  of  true  love  does  not  run  smooth  for  a  genius  any 
more  than  for  an  ordinary  mortal;  Ruskin's  first  love  afifair  was  soon 
doomed.  Adele  married  a  rich  and  handsome  young  Frenchman. 
Looking  back  upon  this  episode  when  he  was  sixty-six  years  old, 
Buskin  says:  "The  entirely  inscrutable  thing  to  me  is  my  total 
•want  of  all  reaswi,  will,  or  design  in  the  business.  I  had  neither 
the  resolution  to  win  Adele,  the  courage  to  do  without  her,  the  sense 
to  consider  what  was  at  last  to  come  of  it  all,  or  the  grace  to  think 
bow  diaagieeable  I  was  making  myidf  t«  tha  time  to  emybo^ 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RVSKIN  9 

eboat  me.  There  was  really  no  more  capacity  nor  intelligence  in  me 
than  in  a  just  fledged  owlet,  or  juat  open-eyed  poppy,  diaconaolato 

at  the  existence  of  the  moon."* 

Evidently  the  marriage  of  Adele  atruck  young  Ruskin  a  haid 
blow.  For  nearly  four  years  he  had  been  a  devoted  and  faiUifiil 
lover.  Hia  devotion  and  hope  were  so  deep  and  strong,  that  it  seema 
to  have  seriously  afifected  hia  health.  Still,  as  Mr.  Collingwood  aays, 
"at  twenty,  young  men  do  not  die  of  love."* 

Ruskin  was,  by  this  time,  an  author  of  fame,  having  written  a 
number  of  poems  of  merit  and  he  was  in  much  demand  for  maga- 
zine articles.  His  illness  did  not  chedc  his  passion  for  work.  His 
parents  designed  him  for  a  clergyman,  and  fondly  looked  forward 
to  his  bearing  the  distinguished  title  of  "Lord  Bishop"  of  the  Episco- 
pal CShurch,  but  subsequent  changes  in  his  religious  experience 
would  have  made  this  impossible,  even  if  hia  deaires  had  not  run  in 
another  direction. 

Perhaps  the  most  hig^ily  esteemed  prize  at  the  University  of 
Oxford  was  that  known  as  the  "Newd^gate,"  end  f<»  thii  yoong 

iPneterita,  Vol.  1,  Page  152. 

•The  foIlowlDK  notes  on  the  Rubject  of  lorew,  written  by  Biukin  in  his  riper 
jnn,  will  be  of  interest  in  tbia  connection : 

"Firat,  a  girl'a  proper  confidant  ia  her  father.  If  there  is  any  break  whatever 
in  her  tmst  in  him,  from  her  infancy  to  Iwr  marriage,  there  ia  wrong  aomewbere,— 
often  on  Ua  part,  bat  most  likely  it  Is  on  bera ;  by  getting  into  the  habit  of  talkinc 
Witt  her  girl-frienda  about  what  they  have  no  bosinsss  with,  and  ber  father  mndk 
What  she  is  not  inclined  to  tell  ber  father,  aboold  b«  toM  to  no  one :  and.  in  niao 
cases  out  of  ten,  not  thought  of  by  herself. 

"And  I  believe  tliat  few  fathers,  however  wrong-headed  or  bard-hearted,  wooM 
fall  of  answering  the  habitual  and  patient  confidence  of  their  child  with  triM 
care  for  her.  On  the  other  band,  no  father  ietervet,  nor  can  be  entirely  and 
beautifully  win,  bia  daugbter'a  confidence,  unlesa  he  loves  ber  better  than  h«  doss 
himaelf,  which  is  not  always  tha  caae.  Bat  unia  hsnu  tho  tanlt  mar  nat 
all  on  papa's  side.  ^  " 

"In  the  second  place,  when  «  yonth  is  fully  la  love  with  a  girl,  and  feela  that  ho 
Is  wise  in  loving  ber,  he  abonld  at  once  ten  her  so  plainly,  and  take  hia  cbanco 
bravely,  with  other  anitors.  No  lover  shonld  have  tha  inaolenee  to  think  of  beinc 
accepted  at  once,  nor  ahould  any  girt  have  the  eraelty  to  lefne  at  once;  withoot 
aevere  reasons  If  she  simply  doesn't  like  him,  abe  may  send  him  away  for  aeven 
Sf!"?.!.*'  vowing  to  live  on  cresses,  and  wear  sackcloth  meanwhile,  or 

In  t^*  ■  «>n>«  to  like  him 

"*J  P""'"«  on  'hsH)  trial  to  aeo 

J*at  Bto«  he  Is  made  of,  and  requiring,  figuratively,  aa  many  lion-akina  or  giants' 

2^  1.^?**'"'  oughtn't  to  be  ritorter  than  three  yeara  at  leaat— 

SISL^u^l'T?  *?•  tiBS.  Airf  thass  islattona  between  th. 

yoant  people  abonld  be  openly  and  rfs^  ksMra.  not  to  their  frienda  abI«  Kn* 

to  iafs  nlwnis  half  »  dsssn  or  so  ot  srtt»»  wrfsr  WW  lor  Mr."-.,i5^jS«I^ 


so 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 


Buskin  worked  with  a  will.  The  first  year  of  his  contest  for  thui 
laurel,  he  had  for  a  oompetitor  a  young  man  of  brilliant  intellect 
who  carried  oflF  the  prize  and  who  was  afterwards  known  to  the 
world  as  "Dean  Stanley."  The  next  year  Ruskin  again  entered 
the  race  without  success,  but  in  the  Uiird  effort,  when,  as  yet» 
he  was  only  twenty,  he  wrote  "Salsette  and  Elephanta,"  a 
poem  describing  the  dawn  of  Christianity  in  Hindustan,  and  with 
this  he  won  the  coveted  price.  With  the  publication  of  this  poem» 
according  to  Collingwood,  it  seemed  that  "he  had  found  his  vooj^on 
and  wa-;  well  on  the  high  road  to  fame  as  a  poet."  By  the  time  he 
TMchet  Mb  majority  he  had  already  written  more  vene  end  prose- 
poetry  that  live  than  fall  to  the  lot  of  many  a  first-rate  literary  man 
in  a  life-time.  More  than  twenty  of  his  works  were  published  from 
1834  to  1840,  while  he  was  a  student  st  the  Univenity,  from  whkh 
lie  graduated  at  twenty-three. 

At  Oxford,  during  these  years,  young  Ruskin  met  many  who 
afterwards  ranked  among  the  most  distinguished  men  of  his  time. 
Such  men  as  Dr.  Buckland,  the  eminent  geologist,  Sir  Henry  Ao- 
land,  the  famous  physician.  Dean  Liddell,  Sir  Charles  Newton, 
Charles  Darwin  and  Dean  Stanley.  William  Ewart  Gladstone  had 
passed  through  Oxford  a  little  before  Rxiskin's  time. 

From  the  standpoint  of  this  volume  no  incident  of  Ruskin's 
youth  is  of  greater  interest  then  the  Scripture  training  which  he 
received  from  his  mother.  Mrs.  Ruskin  was  a  rare  woman,  of 
strong  intellect,  very  decided  piety,  and  e  theology  of  the  Scotch- 
Presbyterian  order  of  that  time.  Her  ideals  were  of  Uie  loftiest^ 
both  for  herself  as  a  mother,  and  for  her  son  as  a  man.  No  care  was 
too  self-sacrificing,  no  training  too  insi^ent,  if  only  she  could  lead  her 
child  into  the  pathway  of  right  thought  and  action.  The  story  of 
Biblo  drill  under  thb,  painstaking  mf/ther  is  told  by  Ruskin  in 
later  years  and  he  seems  to  dwell  upon  it  fondly,  for  he  tells  the 
came  inddenta  more  than  <mce.  The  following  list  of  chapten 
■mtudx  he  gives  in  Fon  in  1873  he  repeats  in  Praterita  in  1885: 

"Walter  Scott  and  Pope's  Tlomcr  were  reading  of  my  own  selection, 
but  my  mother  forced  me,  b>'  stor.ay  daily  toil,  to  learn  long  chapters 
of  tht  Bible  by  heart;  as  well  as  to  read  it  every  syllable  through, 
aloud,  hard  names  and  all,  from  Genesis  to  the  Apocalypse,  about 
once  a  year;  end  to  that  discipline, — patient,  accurate,  and  resolute, 
I  owe,  not  only  a  knowledge  of  the  book,  wnich  I  find  occasionally 
serviceable,  but  of  my  general  power  of  taking  pains,  and  the  best 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


II 


of  my  taste  in  literature.  .  .  Once  knowing  the  32nd  of  Deuteiw 
""^.T^'^it^®  119th  Psalm  the  15th  of  Ist  (Jo5nthian«,  the  Semon 
on  the  Mount,  and  moat  of  the  Apocalypse,  every  syllable  by  heart. 


.     ^  ".1:1    , — ^    —  — — ig  f.»i,xi  uiTsoti  wuuii  words 

meant,  it  waa  jjossible  for  me,  even  m  the  fooliaheat  timea  of  youth 
'superficial  or  formal  English."   ....  "I  openeti 


to  write  entirely  suj.    ..^  openea 

y^"^  flexible  but  not  unclean 

with  much  use  except  that  the  lower  corners  of  the  paees  aft  8th  of 
first  Kings,  and  Deut.  32nd,  are  worn  somewhat  thin  and  dark 
the  learning  of  those  two  chapters  having  cost  me  much  pains.  Mv 
mother's  I'^t  of  the  chapters  with  which,  learned  evenr  syllable 
accurately  she  established  my  soul  in  life,  has  fallen  out  of  it 
...  .1  will  take  what  indulgence  the  sagacious  reader  will  give 
me  for  pnnting  the  list  thus  accidentally  occurrent-  ^ 

Exodus,  Chaps  15  and  20,   2  Samuel,  Chap.  1,  verse  17  to  the 
end.    1  Kings,  8.    Psalms,  23,  32,  90,  91,  l03,  112  119  IM 
Proverbs.  Chaps  2  3,  8.  12.   Isaiah,  CU/SS.  "'Mai^ei  Oiap^: 
Lvdltion^  Cha^^t        '  Gbap."!. 

In  Praeterita  he  tells  us  that  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  read  with 
fluency  his  mother  began  a  eonrse  of  Bible  work  with  him.  which 

never  ceased  till  he  went  to  Oxford. 

"She  read  alternate  verses  with  me,"  he  says,  "watehine  at 
first,  everj'  intonation  of  my  voice. 'and  coSctinp  th^lS 
ones  till,  she  made  me  understand  the  verse,  if  ^within  mv 
reach,  nghtly  and  energetically.  It  might  be  b^ond  me 
altogether;  that  she  did  not  care  about;  but  she  made  sure  th^t 
^nrin'^.v^"*  ^"'v^  ^  all  I  should  get  hold  ofTt  by  the  ri^J 
st^f  M  ""i^  sho  began  with  the  fi«t  verse  of  Genesis,  and  w^ 
straight  through,  to  the  last  verse  of  tiu  ipocalvDse-  hanl  n«m« 
numbers,  Levitioal  law,  and  all;  and  ^l^gaH^^rii,  G^SeTSho 
tio?         eh'Jr '  the  betterihe  exTrcise^n  piSnuncia! 

tireeome,  the  better  lesson  in  patience— if 
loathsome,  the  W  l^n  in  faith  that  there  was  some  \S  in  ite 
be  ng  so  outspoken."  To  this  training  he  adds--  owe  lie  fi«i 
cultivation  of  my  ear  in  sound."        8   «  aaoa.     i  owe  tUe  tost 

f*i^'\*his  was  severe  discipline  reflecting  upon  the 
judgment  and  discretion"  of  his  mother,  it  may  be  ansle^d  that 

toit  again  and  again,  as  laying  the  foundation  of  muca  that  was 
best  m  h^  hfe  and  i»ork.  Indeed  he  defended  his  mother  agains 
some  such  cntacisms,  long  betow  Mr.  Hob.on  wwte  hk  1^  S. 

'John  Rutkin,  Social  Refermw.  J.  A.  Hobtoa. 


13 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


"After  taking  me  at  least  six  times  through  the  Bible,  she 
was  not  afraid  of  pkon  words  to,  or  for,  me;  ...  .  Her  Punian- 

ism  was  clear  enough  in  common  sense  to  see  that,  while  Shak- 
epeare  and  Bums  lay  open  on  the  table  all  day,  there  was  no  reason 
for  much  mystery  vdth  Byron.  ,  My  mother  .  .  had  sym- 
pathy with  every  passion,  as  well  as  every  virtue,  of  true  woman- 
hood. .  .  And  there  was  one  feature  in  my  mother's  character 
which  must  be  here  asserted  at  once,  to  put  an  end  to  the  notion 
of  which  I  see  traces  in  some  newspaper  comments  on  my  past 
descriptions  of  her,  that  she  was  in  any  wise  like  Esther's  religious 
aunt  in  'Bleak  House.'  Far  on  the  contrary,  there  was  a  hear;/, 
fraii^,  and  sometimes  even  irrepressible  laugh  in  my  mother! 
....  If ,  however,  there  w  a  the  least  bitterness  or  irony  in  a 
jest,  my  mother  did  not  like  it"* 

Thus  we  may  see  that  the  elementary  food  upon  which  the  child- 
mind  was  daily  fed  entered  into  the  moral  and  mental  life,  of  young 
Ruskin,  developing  and  sustaining  that  rare  quality  of  intellect 
with  which  he  was  endowed  at  his  very  birth.  The  child,  wel.  i  om, 
was  also  well  trained.  The  promise  of  his  future  lay  not  only  in 
his  heredity,  genius  and  transcenaent  spirit,  but,  periiaps,  m  even 
greater  measure,  in  that  never  failing  sup^ply  of  the  richest  of  all 
literature,— in  ■ttiat  spiritual  perception  imparted  to  him  through 
his  familiarity  with  the  most  q)iritual  of  Bible  Truths  and  by  the 
expository  teaching  ol  hi*  mottier^illuniiiied  hf  har  «W3  ran 
faith  end  love. 


II 


RUSKIN— THE  MAN. 

"Amonf  tlie  heroic  lonla  who  have  aonght  to  tceom  tho  lott  vanXm  aii 

recapture  the  kIoij  of  aa  nndefiled  and  i>Iened  world  atanda  John  BnikiB.  alt 
aa  apostle  of  gentle  words  that  heal  like  medieinea,  and  Mmetimes  a  pioiAiet  of 
Elijah-like  •temnees  and  grandeur,  conanming  man's  sins  with  words  of  flama. 

•  2  ^:  '  Bnnw.  *nd  Byron,  Shelley  and  Goethe,  no  paaaion  erer  noi- 
Boned  his  purpose  and  no  vice  ever  disturbed  the  working  of  his  geniua.  What  ha 
taught  In  theory  ha  first  was  in  practice  Unlike  that  rir  .  young  man  who 

follow  Jmrnr—Nnem  DwtgM  BiOk  i»  "Onm*  Bw*$  m  Life  TeocAwT^ 

In  his  later  years  Ruskin  did  not  hold  his  Univeraity  career  in 
high  regard.  "The  whole  time  I  was  there,"  he  eays,  "my  mind  was 
simply  in  the  state  of  a  squash  before  'tis  a  peaspod,— and  remained 
60  yet  a  year  or  two  afterward,  I  grieve  to  say."*  Whether  this 
was  a  sort  of  ironical  expression  of  dissatisfied  contempt  for  the 
measure  of  his  attainments,  or  simply  an  effect  of  im  man  morbid 
moods,  we  cannot  say,  but  certainly  these  reflections  upon  his  stu- 
dent days  do  not  represent  a  just  view  of  the  facts  as  we  have  them. 
He  was  only  nineteen  when  the  Publisher  of  Lcmdon'e  Magasine 
wrote  to  his  father:— 'Tour  son  is  certainly  the  greatest  genius  that 
ever  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  become  acquainted  with,"  and,  not- 
withstanding his  protracted  sickiMM,  yoong  Ruskin  gradoaled  with 
honors  before  he  was  twenty-three  years  of  age. 

He  was  not,  however,  the  sort  of  young  fellow  to  enter  into  in- 
stant sympathy  with  the  life  of  the  average  oollege  man  wHh  uliom 
he  was  thrown  into  contact  by  his  father's  choice.   Entered  as  a 
Gentleman  Commoner"  of  Christ  Church  College  of  the  Univer^ 
sity,  he  found  himself  among  the  eons  of  the  aristoontic  families  «f 

fc^SS  11  ^^'""^  betted, 

shirked  aU  work  and  got  into  scrapes,  naturally  regarded  the  queer 

HM*^'?  circumsuncea  seem  to  lend  a  little  color  to  this  self-disDaimnuMt.  Ba 

did  not  w.n  the  coveted  Newdigate  prize  until  the  third  attMStawMS^TlS 

»3 


14 


THE  RELIOION  OF  RUSKIN 


poet  as  a  butt  rather  than  an  equal."*  But  there  was  somethuig 
in  ywmg  Ruskin,  which  apeedily  melted  these  prejudices.  "He 
was  one  of  the  gentlest  creatures  ever  seen  in  Oxford,  more 
like  a  girl  than  a  man,  who  was  looked  upon  as  a  joke  until  a  few 
men  peiwived  his  genius  and  the  rest  became  aware  of  his  goodness. 
His  fine  temper,  his  wit,  his  mastery  of  drawing,  his  skill  in  chess, 
his  hospitality,  and  superb  sherry,  won  for  him  the  young  bloods 
who  at  lart  agreed  to  regard  him  as  something  quite  of  an  order  by 
himself.'" 

Various  writers  have  drawn  pictures  of  Riiskin,  as  he  was  at  this 
time,  and  they.are  all  in  substantial  harmony  with  May  Russell  Mit- 
ford's  sketch: — "tall,  fair  and  slender,  with  a  gentle  playfulness  and 
a  sort  of  pretty  waywardness  that  was  quite  charming." 

Here  is  a  pen  portrait,  drawn  by  his  ftiend  and  bi(^;rapher  as  he 
saw  him  when  fint  introduced  to  him: 

"He  received  me  with  radiant  courtesy  when  I  told  him  that  I 
had  sought  him  to  hear  more  of  his  thoughts  about  Labor  and 
Wealth.  1  recall  him  as  a  man  of  slight  figure,  rather  tall,  except 
that  he  had  a  stoop  from  the  shoulders,  with  a  countenance  of  singu- 
lar mobility  and  expressiveness.  His  eyes  were  blue  and  venr  keen, 
fiUl  of  fire  and  meaning;  the  hair  was  brown,  luxuriant,  and  curly; 
the  brows  rather  marked,  and  with  somewhat  shaggy  eyebrows.  The 
lips  were  full  of  movement  and  character,  in  spite  of  the  injury 
caused  by  a  dog's  bite  in  childhood.  His  countenance  was  eminoot- 
ly  apirituel — winning,  magnetic,  and  radittnt.'" 

Mr.  Collin  gwood  has  preserved  a  Reporter's  portrait  of  him, 
when  lecturing  in  Edinburgh  in  1853.  Ruskin  was  then  thirty- 
four,  and  the  skertch  affords  us  a  view  of  the  manner  and  style  of  the 
lecturer  as  well  as  the  face  and  form  of  the  man : 

"Before  you  can  see  the  lecturer  you  must  get  in*.o  the  ^'"  and 

that  is  nol  an  easy  matter  the  crowd  in  waiting,  i  *  ly 

fills  the  passage,  but  occupies  the  pavement,  in  f ro  the  e  .  •  a  oe, 
and  ovemows  into  the  road,  ....  the  door  •  .ae  the  itfur.n 
opens  and  a  thin  gentleman,  with  light  hair,  a  stiff  whi,  '  aval, 
dark  overcoat  with  velvet  collar,  walking,  too,  with  a  slignt  stoop, 
goes  up  to  the  desk,  and  looking  round  with  a  self-possessed  and 
somewhat  formal  air,  ....  'Dark  hair,  pale  face,  and  massive 
marble  brow, — ^that  is  my  ideal  of  A'' .  Ruskin,'  said  a  young  lady 
near  us.  This  proved  to  be  quite  e,  fancy  portrait,  as  unlike  the 
roality  as  oottldf  well  be  imaged.   Mr.  Raskin  has  li^^t  sand- 


*"Joha  BfuOdB."  HarrlMD. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  ,| 

oolorod  hair;  hw  ««»  if  mow  nd  than  pale;  the  mouth  well  cut. 
with  aaood  deal  of  deoinon  in  lia  curve,  though  somewhat  w«ntinB 
jn  suatained  Agnity  and  strength;  an  aquUine  nose;  his  forehead 
by  no  means  broad  or  massive,  but  the  brows  fuU  and  well  bound 
together;  the  eye  we  could  not  see,  in  consequence  of  the  shadowi 
that  fell  upon  his  countenance  from  the  lights  overhead,  but  we  an 
sure  tha*  the  poetry  and  passion  we  lo(£d  for,  aknost  in  vain 
in  other  features  must  be  there."*  ' 

In  a  volume  of  Lettere,  is  a  description  of  Ruakin's  "manifold 
pleasant  ways;  his  graceful  and  delightful  manner— bright,  gentie, 
delicately  courteous;  the  lyric  melody  of  his  voice— more  intoiaely 
spiritual  than  any  voice  I  ever  heard.  He  is  a  swift  observer  and 
acute.  Not  talkative,  bat  ev«r  willing  to  be  interested  in  things, 
and  to  throw  gleams  of  his  soul's  sunlight  over  them ;  original  in  his 
dazzling  idealism.  Forever  thinking  on  'whatsoever  things  are  pure, 
and  lovely,  and  of  good  report,'  annihilating  in  the  intense  white 
heat  of  his  passionate  contempt  and  hatred,  all  vile,  dark,  hateful 
things.  They  are  not— cannot  be.  They  are  lies,  negations,  blanks, 
nonentities.  God  is— and  there  <•  none  «b«  beside  Him.  So  I  wend 
my  way  home  by  a  circuit  through  the  cottage  domain,  dreaming  of 
nothing  but  Ruskin  and  the  glory  of  his  sool,  and  the  i^]tt  he 
would  have  as  worship."* 

Canon  Scott  Holland  wTOts  of  him,  after  his  deiMli,  in  the  follow- 
ing terms: 

"Who  that  had  ever  seen  him  oould  forgot  John  Ruskin?  He 
had  the  touch  that  goes  straight  to  the  heart.  He  oame  up  to  one 
60  confidentiaUy,  so  appealingly,  with  that  wistful  look  in  his  grey- 
glmting  eyes,  which  seemed  to  say,  'I  never  find  anybody  who  quite 
understands  me,  but  I  still  hope  and  think  that  you  will.' 
He  somehow  moved  one  as  with  the  delicate  tenderness  of  a  woman  •' 
and  ho  ftit  frail,  as  if  the  roughness  of  the  world  would  hurt  and 
tojk^himj^and  one  longed  to  shelter  him  from  all  tiiat  was  ugly 

And  again,  his  hSogtapher  wrote  of  him,  at  the  time  of  his  death: 

"He  was  the  very  mirror  of  courtesy,  with  an  indescribable  charm 
of  spontaneous  lovingness.  It  was  neither  the  old-world  gracious- 
ness  of  Mr.  Gladstone,  nor  the  stately  simplicity  of  Tourgenief — 
It  was  simply  the  irrepressible  bubbling  up  of  a  bright  nature,  full 


*  Uh  of  John  RntUn. 

»  Rankin  at  Hawarden  in  "Lrttert  to  M.  Q.  and  E. 
"Paper  by  Holland  in  "Letter*  to  M.  Q.  mti  B.  O: 


THE  RELIGION  OP  RUSKIN 


to  the  brim  with  enthusiasm,  chivalry,  and  affection.  No  boy  oould 
blurt  out  all  that  he  enjoyed  and  wanted  with  more  artless  freedom ; 
no  girl  could  be  more  humble,  modest  and  unassuming.  His  ideas, 
his  admiration,  and  his  fears  seemed  to  flash  out  of  hi  spirit  and 
escape  his  control.  But  (in  private  life)  H  was  always  what  he 
loved,  not  what  he  hated,  that  aroused  his  interest.  Now  all  this  was 
extraordinary  iu  one  who,  in  writing,  treated  what  he  hated  and 
scorned  witli  real  savage  violence,  who  used  such  bitter  words,  even 
in  letters  to  his  best  friends,  who  is  usually  charged  with  inordinate 
arrogance  «nd  concert.  The  world  must  judge  his  writings  as  they 
stand.  Ian  only  say,  that,  in  personal  intercourse,  I  have  never 
known  him,  in  ftul  health,  betrayed  into  a  harsh  word,  or  an  ungra- 
cious phrase,  or  an  unkind  judgment,  or  a  trace  of  egotism,  face 
to  face,  he  was  the  humblest,  most  willing  and  palieirt  of  listeners, 
always  deferring  to  the  judgment  of  others  in  things  wherein  he 

did  not  profess  to  be  a  student,  and  anxious  to  learn  To 

paraphrase  an  absurd  epigram  of  Oliver  Goldsmith's  talk  and  his 
nooks,  it  might  be  said  of  Ruskin  that  he  talked  like  an  angel  and 
wrote  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  Major  Profdiets."* 

These  sketohee  of  Rnskin's  personal  traits  would  be  incomplete  as 
portraiture  without  the  perspective  which  Ruskin  himself  furnishes : 

"Readers  should  be  clearly  aware  of  one  peculiarity  in  the  man- 
ner of  my  writing  in  Fora  which  might  otherwise  much  mislead 
them: — namely,  wat  if  they  will  enclose  in  brackets  with  thei<^ 
pen,  passages  of  evident  irony,  all  the  rest  of  the  book  is  written  with 
absolute  seriousness  a..d  literalness  of  meaning.  The  violence,  or 
grotesque  aspect,  of  a  statement  may  seem  as  if  I  were  mocking; 
but  this  comes  mainly  of  my  endeavour  to  bring  the  absolute  truth 
out  into  pure  crsrstalline  structure,  unmodified  oy  disguise  of  cus- 
tom, or  obscurity  of  language;  for  the  result  of  that  process  is  con- 
tinually to  reduce  the  facts  into  a  fornr.  so  contrary,  if  theoretical, 
to  our  ordinary  Impressions,  and  so  contrary,  if  moral,  to  our  ordi- 
nary practice,  tluit  the  stiaightforward  statement  of  them  looks  like 
a  jest  But  every  such  apparent  jest  will  be  fonnd,  if  j  ou  think  of 
it,  a  pure,  very  dreadful,  and  utterly  imperious,  veracity."* 

The  apparent  contradictions  in  Ruskin  never  mean  that  he  was, 
in  the  least,  insincere;  for  no  one  who  knew  him, or  ever  studied 
his  life  and  work  could  doubt  the  transparent  honesty  of  all  he  said 
and  did.  He  was  not  the  man  to  be  silent  in  presence  of  any  evil, 
real  or  imaginary.  He  was  prone  tu  lay  the  ax  to  the  root  of  the 
tree,  when  it  once  appeared  to  him  as  ommqiL  Hence  he  often 


SFoia.   VoL  III.  Lettw  xMi. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  BVSKIN  17 

travelled  out  of  the  path  which  the  world  came  to  regard  as  legiti- 
mately his.  Yet,  in  doing  this,  he  was  always  on  the  side  of  juMice 
and  truth,  as  he  saw  them. 

After  graduating  at  Oxford.  Raskin  gm  himself  hut  little  rest, 
although  he  had,  several  times,  been  warned  by  rickness.  All  his 
ctodiee  were  pursued  wHh  a  purpose  and  a  pasrion.  Re  was  never 
contented  with  a  mere  passive  or  receptive  state  of  mind  which  takes 
in  knowledge  for  ita  own  sake,  much  leas  for  the  sake  of  completing 

atask.  Everything  he  did  had  some  purpose  in  view  for  which  the 

task  was  but  a  preparation. 

As  a  thinker,  he  was  absolutely  independent,— indififerent  to  cur- 
rent opinion  and  oonventionalities.  As  we  ha,v  seen,  he  was  gen- 
tle and  kind  in  his  personal  contact  with  men  and  women,  but  he 
was  severe  in  hk  written  attacks  upon  everything  which  seemed  to 
him  to  be  ftdse  or  erroneona,  end  he  was  absolutely  honest  in  his 
criticisms  of  the  work  of  the  most  influential  people,  including  his 
closest  friends.*  He  had  a  humble  conception  of  the  merits  of  his 
own  work  althon^  he  was  oommonly  regarded  as  an  egotist.  "No 
description,"  he  aays,  "that  I  havo  given  of  auything  is  worth 
four  lines  of  Tennyson,  and  in  serious  thought,  my  half-pages  are 
generaUy  worth  as  macb  as  a  single  sentence  of  his,  or  of  Carlyle's.* 

Few  men  enjoyed  o  closer  acquaintance  with  the  great  minds  of 
his  time  than  did  Ruskin.  Carlyle  fairly  doted  on  him  and  praised 

«  We  have  no  authority  for  the  fonowing  rather  hamorous  story,  other  than  • 
a.'wapaper  clipping,  bnt  it  aervea  to  illustrate  the  Btorms  which  Raskin's  criU- 
CMins  often  raised,  even  among  his  friends: 

fcil^irif' •  Pointer,  once  brought  suit  against  John  Ruskin  for  writing  of 
SSl'pfJ  "^J*  'H'^  taipadence  before  now;  but  never 

«»'  ""''n*  a  pot  of  paint  in  the 
pub  OS  face.'  One  of  the  moat  amusing  featana  of  the  triiU  that  Mlowed  tha 
pubhcatJon  of  this  criHcism  was  the  ezhibltioii  te  court  of  aSia  5  ttTw 
tnmes  and  arrangements'  which  were  the  subject  of  the  suit  The  Jut  of^ 
•pectable  dtlzens,  whose  knowledge  of  art  was  probably  limited,  waa  anMctad  to 
paw  judgment  on  these  paintings.  Mr.  Whistler's  counsel  held  up  onV^tta 
m^L"'  ««'>"e?'«°.'  he.  Is  one  of  the  works  which  haye  been  ma- 
!!^r  .  me,'  interposed  Mr.  Ruskin's  lawyer,  "you  have  that  nieture 

•ei .  I  remembw  It  in  the  Oroavenor  gallery,  where  it  was  hung  the  other  way 
abone  The  .ltw»uoo  ended  ta  the  eontetneas  of  view  of  Ruskin's  la^er  bl^S 
sustained  and  the  tect  that  Mr.  WWstler'a  own  ooonael  did  not  know  which  was 
the  top  or  bottom  of  the  picture  had  more  to  do  with  Boaida'B  ?irtnal  victory 
than  all  the  arguments  of  counsel  or  the  evidence  of  art  anertiL  Tha  Jiuv 
awarded  the  artist  one  farthing  danlatM^  wbick  ka  kot  OB  uTinM  ^ate  n2 
used  to  exhibit  with  sardonic  prida^**  *™* 
•The  Two  Patha—Awandiz. 


tl 


TES  REUaiON  OF  RVSKIN 


his  work  in  the  most  flattering  terms,  and  tint  k  Mjring  a  good  deal 
of  such  a  gruff  old  spokesman  as  the  ChelsM  philosopher.  He  waa 
intimate  with  the  Brownings;  Mrs.  Browning  wrote:— "I  like  Mr. 
Ruakin  very  much  and  so  does  Robert:  very  gentle,  yet  eameat— 
refined  and  truthful.  I  like  him  much.  We  count  him  among 
the  valuable  acquaintances  made  this  year."  Mr.  Ciollingwood  has 
published  several  lengthy  letters  which  passed  brtwsMi  Browning 
and  Raskin  and  also  betwean  OkAjU  uA  Baaldn,  whihiting  •  raw 
intimacy  between  them. 

Ruakin  was  tenacious  of  opinion,  yet  ready  to  change,  and  honest 
to  avow  it,  when  confronted  with  evidence.  He  tells  us  that  "for  a 
long  time  I  used  to  say,  in  all  my  elementary  books,  that  except  in 
a  graceful  and  minor  way,  women  could  not  paint  or  draw.  I  am 
beginning,  latoly,  to  bow  myself  to  the  much  mom  deUj^tflll  COD* 
viction  that  nobody  else  can."* 

One  has  only  to  read  "Sesame  and  Lilies"  to  see  how  he  held 
women  in  esteem  w^ith  a  touch  of  reverence  in  it.  His  ideal  places 
them  on  a  plane  far  higher  than  that  of  man,  in  all  that  is  pure  and 
spiritual.  Not  that  he  would  admit  the  thought,  or  allow  the  word, 
of  "superiority"  in  either  sex.  Man  and  woman  are  two  hemi- 
spheres, differing  in  form  and  character,  but  each  necessary  to  the 
other,  and  both  necessary  to  make  a  world.  "Each  has  vibat  the 
other  has  not;  each  completes  the  other  and  is  completed  by  the 
other;  they  in  nothing  alike,  and  the  happiness  and  perfection  of 
both  depends  on  each  asking  and  receiving  from  the  other  what 
the  other  only  can  give."  Thus  Ruskin  is  in  full  MO(»d  with 
Tennyson,  in  his  memorable  poem,  "The  Prineeu." 

"Woman  is  not  undpvelopt  man. 
But  diverse :  could  we  make  ber  aa  the  man. 
Sweet  love  were  slain :  his  dearest  bond  to  thia, 
Nbt  Wk»  to  like,  but  like  in  differenot 


Nor  eqaa),  nor  nnequal:  each  fnlfilla 

Defect  in  each,  and  alwajra  thoafht  in  thon^t, 

Purpoae  in  purpoae,  will  in  will,  they  grow." 

Woman  is  queen  and  as  such  is  regnant  in  her  realm,  but  she  it 
not,  and  cannot  be  king,  any  more  than  man  can  he  queen - 

"A  woman's  rank 
Lies  in  tha  fnlacM  of  her  woBuhood 
ThMal&  Blopa       Sft  t^^wim^^^^QtOff^  JWvC* 


*nM  Alt  ti  Batlaad:  Lietart  1. 


THE  UFE  or  JOHK  RVSKJN  ,9 

In  his  portrayal  of  woman,  Ruskin  claims  to  be  on  the  iid«  of 
"the  greatest,  the  wisest,  the  purest  hearted  of  all  ages."  "Shak*. 

peare,"  he  aaya,  "has  no  heroes,— only  heroines  Othello  would 

have  been  one,  if  his  simplicity  had  not  been  so  great  aa  to  km* 
him  the  prey  of  every  base  practice  round  him;  but  he  ia  the  only 
example  even  approximating  to  the  heroic  type.  Coriolanui, 
CsDsar,  Antony,  stand  in  flawed  strength,  and  fall  by  their  vani- 
ties. Hamlet  is  indolent  and  drowsily  speculative;  Romeo  an  im- 
patient boy;  the  Merchant  of  Venice  languidly  submissive  to  adverse 
fortune;  Kent,  in  King  Lear,  is  entirely  noble  at  heart,  bat  too 
rough  and  unpolished  to  be  of  true  use  at  the  critical  time,  and  he 
sinks  into  the  office  of  a  servant  only.  .  .  .  Whereaa  then  ia 
hardly  a  play  that  has  not  a  perfect  woman  in  it,  steadfast  in  grav* 
hope  and  errorless  purpose;  Cordelia,  Desdemona,  Isabella,  Uer- 
mione,  Imogen,  Queen  Kathcrine,  Perdita,  Sylvia,  Viola,  Rosalind, 
Helena,  and  last,  and  perhaps  loveliest,  Virgilia,  all  are  perfect 
Then  observe,  he  catastrophe  of  everj-  pi  xy  is  caused  by  the  foUy  or 
fault  of  a  man;  the  redemption,  if  there  be  any,  is  by  the  wisdom 
and  virtue  of  a  woman,  and  failing  that,  there  is  none."* 

Ruskin,  however,  wa-  not  an  advocate  in  advance  of  his  times 
of  what  IS  popularly  m  lerstood  as  "Woman's  Rights."  The  pres^ 
ent  writer  believes  that  sex  should  not  be  a  qoalificatioD,  nor  « 
disqualification,  for  electoral  rights  and  privileges.  But,  as  Dr 
Dawson*  says:  Ruskin  "reminds  us  that  woman  may  be  emanci- 
pated m  so  rough  and  wrong  a  fashion  that  the  bloom  of  virgin 
graw  may  be  wasted  in  the  process,  and  the  true  charm  of  womaa. 
hood  may  perish. 

Among  the  men  of  his  class  there  was  not,  in  aU  England,  so 
perfect  an  example  of  pure  unselfishness.  Other  men  were  doing 
great  and  good  things  for  the  relief  of  the  poor  and  oppressed. 
Shaftesburj',  the  prince  of  philanthropy;  Peabody,  who  set  the 
fashion,  at  great  personal  expense,  of  providing  homes  for  work- 
men, having  the  comforts  of  civilization  without  its  extortions,  at 
leaat  so  far  as  rent  was  concerned;  and  John  Howard,  the  self- 
sacrificing  prison  reformer.  But  John  Ruskin,  as  we  shall  see  in 
chapter  IV.  of  this  sketch  of  his  life,  gave  hunself  and  his  fortune, 
without  stint  or  measure  to  others.  Beared  among  aristocrats,  edu- 
cated in  the  proudest  of  universities,  petted  and  pniaed  by  a  prood 

•SMame  «nd  Lilies.— Of  Queen'i  Oardoia. 


to 


THE  RELIOION  OF  RV8KIN 


father  and  a  doting  mother,  he  possessed  rare  opportunities  for 
selfish  enjoyment,  and  had  every  thing  that  usually  tends  to  per- 
aonal  vanity  and  self-love.  But  he  was  a  man  of  intense  iympattiy, 
—it  may  be  said  that  he  was  a  man  of  sorrows— a  martyr-spirit. 
Mr.  E.  T.  Cook,  the  authorized  editor  jf  Raskin's  Works  says,  "He 
was  like  the  living  conscience  of  the  modem  world,  and  felt  acutely 
the  wrongi  and  wrongdoings  of  others.  In  no  age  could  his  sen- 
sitive heart  have  escaped  these  sorrows."  Very  keenly  he  felt  every 
aeeming  failure  to  reach  the  world  of  grief.  "It'i  not  my  work  that 
drives  me  mad,"  he  said,  "but  the  sense  that  nothing  comes  of  it." 
His  chivalry  was  irresistible  and  exultant.   He  stood  valiantly  for 
truth  against  all  forms  of  evil,  not  waiting  for  them  to  assail  him; 
he  acted  aggressively  and  without  a  suggestion  of  compromise. 
What  he  believed  to  be  wrong  he  resisted  and  regarded  his  con- 
flicts as  stimulants  to  virtue.   Kot  that  he  cared  for  thfl  joy  of 
conqaeit;  in  this  also  he  wai  xamdBOk,  i^oinag  in  Um  triumph  of 

right  for  iti  own  take.  ^   #     4  v 

In  every  age  there  has  been  an  occasionu  man  who  fonna  nun- 
self  alone  in  the  world— not  because  he  dwelt  in  a  wilderness,  or 
was  lost  in  a  crowd,  but  because  he  was  original,  singular,  unique. 
The  great  soul  must  ever  reach  higher  and  go  farther  than  the 
ordinary  man.  Friends  may  accompany  him  part  of  the  way— as 
did  the  disciples  of  Jesus  in  Gethseman  s  but  He  musi  go  "a  htUe 
further."  The  true  hero  must  always  be  prepared  to  go  alone.  He 
is  like  an  occasional  pine-tree  in  the  forest,  whose  head  reaches 
above  all  others,— facing  the  winds  and  meeting  the  storm,  alone. 
We  try  to  classify  such  a  man,  but  he  cannot  fee  classed.  No  sect  or 
party  can  hold  him.  He  is  like  a  mighty  mountain  peak,  higher 
than  the  clouds,  holding  fellowship  with  sun  and  stars. 

Ruskin  was  of  the  prophetic  order  of  mind— uiat  me  inAffA 
into  the  heart  and  spirit  of  troth  which,  in  Old  Testament  times, 
was  called  the  spirit  of  the  seet.  He  believed  in  Nature  in  aU  ita 
heights  and  depths,  and  like  the  Psalmist,  delighted  in  communion 
with  it.  Loyalty  to  duty  was,  with  him,  directly  related  to  pleasure; 
indeed  he  could  not  conceive  of  pleasure  at  the  expense  of  duty. 
Justice  was  more  to  him  than  charity.  "It  is  the  law  of  heaven, 
he  said,  "that  yon  will  not  be  able  to  judge  what  is  wise  or  eaay, 
unless  you  are  first  resolved  to  judge  what  is  just,  and  do  it.  .  .  . 
Do  justice  and  judgment,  that's  your  Bible  order,  thafs  the  sarvice 
of  God,  The  one  divine  work,  the  one  needed  sawiflce  m  to  do 


TBE  UFE  OF  JOBN  RU3KIN  u 

justice.   Nay,  but  yen  will  say,  'Charity  is  greater  than  JtMdM.* 
Yes,  it  is  greater,  it  is  the  summit  of  Justice,  it  is  the  temple  ol 
which  Jostiea  is  the  foandation."  And  again  he  says,  "No  human 
actions  were  ever  intended  by  the  Maker  of  Men  to  be  guided  by 
Lalances  of  expediency  but  by  balances  of  Justice.*   There  is  a 
gap  of  two  years  (1847-49)  in  Ruakin's  autobiography,  as  given  in 
Pnetcrita.    During  that  period  two  events  occurred  about  which 
he  preferred  to  say  nothing.  These  were  his  marriage  and  a  serious 
and  dangerous  illness.   Several  years  had  gone  by  since  a  young 
lady— a  dauKhter  of  an  old  Scotch  friend  of  the  Ruskins— visited 
them  at  their  home  at  Heme  Ilill,  London.    The  young  lady, 
whose  name  was  Euphemia  Chalmers  Gray,  was  strikingly  beauti- 
ful.  In  the  course  of  her  acquaintance  with  Ruskin,  which  was 
mixed  with  flirtation,  she  challenged  him  to  write  her  a  fairy  story, 
probably  thinking  it  a  good  joke  to  impose  such  a  task  on  a  man 
of  serious  mind.  But  Ruskin  accepted  the  challenge  and  the  story 
of  "The  King  of  the  Golden  River"  is  the  result.   For  reasons  of 
their  own,  the  elder  Ruskins  advised  their  son  to  marry  this  lady 
and  on  the  tenth  of  April,  1848,  they  were  married.  Almost  im^ 
mediately  after  the  marriage  he  contracted  a  severe  cold  and  for 
a  time  his  life  seemed  to  be  in  danger.   Nothing  is  said  of  this 
marriage  in  any  of  Ruskin's  letters.   His  bride  is  not  menUoned 
m  his  autobiOEcraphical  writings.    ^Tiatever  may  have  been  the 
cause  of  it,  certainly  this  union  wa*»  not  attended  with  happinesi  on 
either  side. 

Ruskin  was  far  too  generous  a  man  to  parade  any  fault  he  may 
have  found  in  his  wife.  He  simply  drew  a  veU  of  sUence  over  the 
whole  matter.  Had  it  been  left  to  him  the  world  would  never  have 
heard  of  it.  Only  five  years  had  passed  away,  when  MiUais,  the 
celebrated  artist,  while  a  guest  at  their  home,  painted  the  portraits 
of  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Ruskin.  Then  foUowed,  in  quick  suc- 
cession, the  return  of  Mrs.  Ruskin  to  the  home  of  her  parents  an 
appeal,  m  a  Scotch  court,  for  a  nullity  of  their  tie,  in  which  Ruskin 
acquiesced,  and  the  marriage  of  the  beautiful  wife  to  Blillais.  This 
sad  ending  of  his  domestic  life  is,  perhaps,  without  a  parallel  in 
all  the  records  of  family  tragedies.  That  any  man  could  be  so  finely 
constituted-so  self-renouncing,  as  to  sacrifice  himself,  in  such  a 
way,  rather  than  contest  the  peace  and  desires  of  othoi  is  a  vwfy 

*TlB«aadI1d«:  Emm  I. 


„  THE  BELIOION  OF  RVSKJN 

rtriking  and  ringolar  instance  of  pure  unselfishneM    The  experi- 
iTce  L  a^hole,  from  the  courtship  io  marriage,  and  from  the  wed- 
Igly  to  £  close  of  the  tragedy,  was  a  f uU  Uanslatoon  o^^Ui. 
Sment  expressed  in  lines  which  he  wrote  in  "Tune  and  Tide, 
fifteen  years  later: 

"And  there,  with  many  a  bliaaful  tM, 
1  vowed  to  love  and  prayed  to  wed 
The  maiden  who  had  grown  to  ^t:— 
Thanked  God,  who  had  set  her  in  my  p«» 
And  promiaed,  as  I  hoped  to  win, 
1  never  would  sully  my  faith 
By  the  least  selfishnegs  or  sin; 
Whatever  In  her  sight  I'd  seem 
I'd  really  be;  I  ne'er  would  blend. 
With  my  delight  in  her,  a  dream 
'Twould  change  her  cheek  to  comprehena. 
And,  if  she  wished  it,  would  prefer 
Another's  to  my  own  auccess; 
And  always  seek  the  best  for  her 
With  unofficious  tenderness." 

After  the  home  of  his  childhood  there  seems  to  have  been  no 
domestic  haven  for  this  noble  and  loving  man.  His  laj  love  was  a 
vounjs  lady  pupil  which  ended  almost  in  a  tragedy.  He  tiftj- 
she      less  than  half  that  age.   According  to  Mr.  Cook,  she 
Irish  girl  whose  name  was  Rose  LaTouche    R^^m  ha^ 
known  "Roeie,"  as  he  calls  her,  in  his  reminiscences,  f«>™/^«  ^^T; 
hood.   She,  with  her  brother  and  sister,  became  his  PUP^'^^ 
^as  forty  and  she  nine.  But  at  fifty-three  and  twenty4wo,  respe^ 
tively  the  disparity  did  not  embarrass  them,  and  he  ProP«se^  j^f^ 
her    His  friends  favored  the  proposed  union  and  hoped  f^ 
hb  happiness.    But  she  was  deeply  religious,  of  a  somewhi^ 
morbfd  temperament,  and  her  religion  was  of  the  most  pronounced 
TrtJodox  t,?e.    She  was.  therefore,  shocked  at  Ruskm's  liberd 
vfews,  and  perhaps,  still  more,  at  his  «f  ^^^^y 
Sh  sbe  loved  him  sincerely,  she  re  used  ni-^e^*^  f  ^ 

wai^  attended  her,  and  three  years  later  she  died.  Her  death 
Zr^hf^atL  grief  of  Ruskin's  life.  When  past  ^enty,  he 
ITniJfJU  back  in  memory  over  the  scenes  of  this  love.  In  his  last 
Hfef  ^^tuaTteUs  of  "Elysian  walks  with  Jo-^a.^-^ 
pa^d^ical.  with  Rosie.  under  Peach-blossom  te^^ 
little  glittering  stream  which  I  had  paved  with  crystal  for  them. 
Happiest  time  for  all  of  us  that  ever  were  to  be. 

i>..M.'.  Muiatn.  ud  Arthur  Severn  her  husband,  with  whom  te 
»  Joanna  wM  ^^^'^^t^Smm  to  Wt  tot  few 
■fad  and  wm  owed  for  wKa  •» 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


«3 


Waa  it  any  wonder  that  this  great,  sensitive  soul,  so  long  derived 
of  the  lore  and  domestio  felicity  for  idiich  he  panted  as  "the  hart 

panteth  after  t*>e  water-brooks ;"  struggling  against  repeated  attacks 
of  ill-health,  au<l  then,  plunging,  from  enforced  rest,  into  turbu- 
lent floodf  of  warring  elements,  and  pouring  out  all  the  forces  of 
his  intenf  ly  active  t  rai  i  into  human  service,  should  reach  the 
limit  of  l  is  physical  st  ength  long  years  before  he  came  tc  his 
last  days?  insomnia  md  nightmare  were  followed  by  mental 
and  physical  collapse.  In  1878  he  was  struck  down  with  brain* 
fever,  from  which,  after  a  long  illness, — ^he  partially  recovered. 

In  his  passion  for  work  he  wrote  much  and  designed  more.  He 
planned  a  colossal  library  of  sixty-nine  volumes.  "John  Ruskin 
would  think  in  encyclopedias,  comprising  Man  and  Nature  in  one 
library,"  says  Frederick  Harrison.  In  1879  he  was  compelled 
by  the  "state  of  his  health  to  resign  his  Oxford  professor- 
ship, and  at  sixty  he  retired  to  quiet  rest  and  study  in  his  beauti- 
ful cottage  home  at  Brantwood  on  Coniston  Lake."  Here  he 
enjoyed  the  home  comforts  and  the  care  and  devotion  of  Mrs. 
Severn  and  family. 

But  "rrat  and  study,"  with  Ruskin  meant  only,  that  in  a  short 
time,  he  would  get  up  the  steam  again  and  plunge  into  the  most 
strenuous  work.  "I  won't  believe,"  he  wrote,  "any  stories  about 
over-work.  It's  impossible  when  one's  in  good  heart  and  at  really 
good  things.  I've  a  lot  of  nice  things  to  do,  but  the  heart  fails- 
after  lunch  particularly."  Heart  and  hand  did  fail  again.  In  1882 
he  had  another  attack  of  brain  fever,  but  was  able  to  travel  in  Aug- 
ust, and  to  woiK  at  French  churches,  and  in  the  Alps.  Strange 
to  say,  by  the  end  of  the  year  he  so  far  recovered  that  he  was  onoa 
more  ready  for  public  life.  "The  attacks  of  br-in  fever  had  passed 
over  him  like  passing  storms,  leaving  a  clear  sky." 

And  so  in  1883  he  waa  again  in  the  professor's  chair  at  Oxford, 
working  with  his  old  enthusiasm,  and  in  1884  he  delivered  the 
course  of  lectures  which  he  publiAed  under  the  title  of  "The  Storai- 
Cloud  of  the  Nineteenth  Century;"  and  then  aipain  he  suddenly 
resigned  his  professorship. 

This  practically  closed  his  active  life.  Mr.  Collingwood,  who  waa 
Ruskin's  chosen  secretary  and  biographer,  is  best  qualified  to  speak 
of  him  at  this  time.  He  says:  "Over-stimulus  in  childhood,  intense 
application  to  work  in  youth  and  middle  me,  under  conditions 
of  diacooragnnent,  boOi  paUie  and  p^vate,  whidi  woqM  have  beea 


•4 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSK  IN 


fatal  to  many  another  man;  and  this  too,  not  merely  hard  work 
of  an  intensely  emotional  nature,  involving,  in  his  view  at  least, 
wide  issues  of  life  and  death,  in  which  he  was  another  Jacob,  wrest- 
ling with  the  angel  in  the  wilderness,  another  Savonarola,  imp'  >ring 
reconciliation  between  God  and  man.  .  .  .  These  attacks  of  men- 
tal disease,  which  at  his  recall  to  Oxford,  seemed  to  have  been  safely 
distanced,  after  his  resignation  began  again  at  more  frequent  in- 
tervals. Crash  after  crash  of  tempest  fell  upon  him — clearing  away 
for  awhile,  only  to  return  with  fiercer  fury,  until  they  left  him 
beaten  down  and  helpless  at  last,  to  learn  that  he  must  accept  the 
lesson  and  bow  before  the  storm.  Like  another  prophet  who  had 
been  very  jealous  for  the  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  he  was  to  feel  tempest 
and  earthquake  and  fire  pass  over  him,  before  hearing  the  still 
small  voice  that  bade  him  once  more  take  courage,  and  live  in 
quietness  and  confidence,  for  the  sake  of  those  whom  he  had  for- 
gotten, when  he  cried,  'I,  even  I  only  am  left.' " 

And  Mr.  Harrison,  his  other  biographer,  says:  "But  a  year  or  so 
before  his  death,  I  found  him  in  his  quiet  Brantford  home— to 
look  at,  just  like  Lear  in  the  last  scene,  but  perfectly  reposeful, 
gentle  and  happy,  taking  the  air  of  the  fells  with  delight,  joining 
in  games,  or  reading  with  the  family  at  intervals;  .  .  .  silently 
and  for  long  intervals  together  gazing  with  a  far-off  look  of  yearn- 
ing, but  no  longer  of  eagerness,  at  the  blue  hills,  across  the  rippling 
lake,  as  if— half  child  again,  half  wayworn  pilgrim— he  saw  there 
the  delectable  mountains  'where  the  wicked  cease  from  troublmg 
and  the  weary  are  at  rest.'  " 

Certainly  the  man,  Ruskin,  had  well  earned  the  rest  which  came 
to  him  with  his  closing  years.  A  prophet  of  the  nmeteenth  cen- 
tury,  he  had  preached,  unwaveringly,  the  gospel  of  smcenty  with  a 
passion  unequalled,  and  with  a  power  hardly  surpassed  by  his  great 
contemporary  and  friend— Thomas  Cariyle.  In  those  notes  of  quiet 
ecstasy  which  his  soul  delighted  in,  as  he  shared  the  domestic  peace 
denied  him  in  his  years  of  service  and  battle,  his  spiritual  vision 
was  not  impaired,  nor  his  faith  weaker.  One  can  almost  hear  him 
as  he  sits  in  the  gloaming  of  a  long  eventide,  singing  with  Brown- 
ing: 

"Grow  old  along  with  me; 

The  best  is  yet  to  be. 
The  last  of  life  for  which  the  first  wa«  made; 

Our  times,  are  in  His  hand, 

Whosaith:   'A  whole  I  planned, 
Xonth  Mbtm  bat  haU;  tnut  God;  iw  all,  aor  be  aSnSAV 


Ill 

RUSKIN— ART  CRITIC  AND  AUTHOR. 

Trne  criticiRm  «f  art  never  can  consist  in  tlie  mere  application  of  rules;  it 
can  be  just  oniy  when  it  is  founded  on  quiclt  sympatliy  witli  tlie  innumerable 
instincts  and  chanceful  efforts  of  human  nature,  chastened  and  guided  by  un- 
clianKinR  love  of  all  things  that  God  has  created  to  be  beautiful,  and  pronounced 
t,)  hi-  good."— Hod.  Painter*,  VoL  3,  Chap.  2. 

Ru>kiii  i.-;  best  known  to  the  world  of  literature  as  Art  Critic,  and 
beyond  all  doubt,  he  stands  unrivalled  in  this  character.  There 
have  been  artists  many,  and  art  critics  not  a  few,  but  to  our  author 
is  commonly  conceded  tirst  place  in  this  realm.  The  encyclopedias 
refer  to  him  as  "the  most  eminent  art  critic"  and  librarians  so  class 
his  works.*  CoUingwood  devotes  the  whole  of  Book  II.  of  his  biog- 
raphy, comprising  nearly  one  hundred  pages,  to  Ruskin's  work  as 
art  critic.  And,  in  truth,  it  is  in  art  that  his  best  literary  work 
finds  its  base  of  form  and  ♦hought,  notwithstanding  that  he  travels, 
often,  over  fields  that  are  wide  apart,  for  inspirat'  on  and  applica- 
tion. His  writings  are  truly  encyclopedic,  not  only  in  volume,  but 
also  ;  1  variety  of  subject  and  treatment.  Yet  they  are  entirely 
original  and  have  opened  to  the  world  a  new  school  <d  thought  and 
criticism.* 

Starting  out  with  the  broadest  view  of  hia  subject,  he  says : 

"I  want  a  definition  of  art  wide  enough  to  include  all  its  varieties 
of  aim.  The  art  is  greatest,  which  conveys  to  the  mind  of  the 
spectator,  by  any  means  whatsoever,  the  greatest  number  of  the 
greatest  ideas,  and  I  call  an  idea  great  in  proportion  as  it  is  re- 
ceived by  a  higher  faculty  of  th--  mind,  and  as  it  more  fully 

'"John  Ruskin  is  the  greatest  interpreter  of  art  the  English  world  has  erer 
known." — Jenkin  Lloyd  Janet. 

2  The  Literary  Editor  of  the  New  York  Tribune  has  kindly  famWMd  thi  writer 
an  extract  from  a  review  of  one  of  Ruskin's  works  which  aroMrad  ia  tte  TritmM 
fifty-seven  years  ago,  viz.:  July  13.  1849,  as  follows: 

"He  ( Ruskin  >  Is  so  clearly  master  of  his  subject,  which  seems,  indeed,  to  form 
a  portion  of  his  deepest  life  and  being,  he  writes  so  sincerely  from  inspiration  of 
«  targe  interior  experience,  that  we  cannot  but  think  it  wiser,  as  well  as  more 
mo«e»t,  to  place  ouraelvea  to  him  in  the  relation  of  leamert,  rather  thu  oC 

4Mtl0t. 

»5 


s6 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


occupies,  and  in  occupying,  exerci^s  and  exalts,  the  faculty  by  which 
it  is  received. 

"If  this  then  be  the  definition  of  great  art,  that  of  a  great  artist 
naturally  follows.  He  is  the  greatest  artist  who  has  embodied,  in 
the  sum  of  hia  works,  the  greatest  number  of  the  greatest  ideas."— 
Modem  Painten,  VoL  1,  Chap.  2. 

This  definition  Ruskin  nobly  interpreted  in  his  own  work,  for  he 

was  an  artist  before  he  ventured  to  criticise  art.  And  every  piece 
of  work  that  came  from  his  hand,  and  every  criticism  of  the  work  of 
others  was  subjected  to  these  standards.  There  could  be  no  beauty 
without  truth  and  no  work  that  does  not  represent  the  character  of 
the  soul  as  well  as  of  the  brain.  When  men  asked,  "Have  I  produced 
something  that  will  pay,  and  something  calculated  cunningly  to 
deceive  the  eye,  so  that  I  may  obtain  a  larger  payment  for  it  than 
I  have  justly  earned?"  instead  of  the  question,  "Is  this  thing  that 
I  have  made  as  sound  and  efficient  a  thing  as  it  is  possible  for  me 
to  produce?"  they  are  essentially  and  radically  dishonest. 

With  such  a  standard  Ruskin  was  eminently  qualified  for  the 
function  of  critic,  and  only  such  a  man  is.  He  who  holds  up  a 
poem,  or  a  painting,  or  any  piece  of  work  to  the  light,  must  him- 
self be  true.  Praise  or  censure  of  any  work  for  favor,  or  for  a  price 
alone,  is  not  criticism — it  is  flattery  or  calumny — ^ui  either  case 
false  and  worthless. 

And  then,  too,  Ruskin  insisted,  not  only  that  truth  is  truth,  but 
that  truth  is  beauty,  and  that  there  is  no  real  beauty  in  any  thing 
that  maketh  a  lie.  Falsehood  is  varnish,  paint  is  a  coat  only,  and 
may  hide  rottenness  and  hideousness.  The  single  column  in  tem- 
ple or  porch  must  be  straight  and  true,  or  it  is  not  a  thing  of  beauty. 
The  beauty  of  the  butterfly — of  every  bird  and  every  leaf  and 
flower;  and  of  every  shade  of  color  in  foliage  is  an  expression  of 
truth.  Nature  hates  a  lie  as  it  abominates  a  vacuum.  It  was  one  of 
the  articles  of  his  faith  that  ugliness  is  the  product  of  sin,  and  that 
truth  and  beauty  are  eternally  wedded.  "A  beautiful  thing  may 
exist  but  for  a  moment,  as  a  reality — it  exists  forever  as  a  testi- 
mony The  law  of  beauty  (for  us)  depends  on  the  laws 

of  Christ.  On  all  the  beautiful  features  of  men  and  women,  through- 
out the  ages  are  written  the  solemnities  and  majesty  of  the  law  they 
knew,  with  the  charity  and  meekness  of  their  obedience;  on  all 
unbeautiful  features  are  written  either  ignorance  of  the  law,  or  the 
malice  and  insolence  of  the  disobedience."* 

>  Art  of  gn0Um4,  Lmt.  lit. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  37 

Ruakin's  soul  was  fired  with  the  spirit  of  Eternal  Truth  He 
could  hate  intensely,  but  he  hated  only  evfl  things.  Shams,  hypoc 
risy,  and  every  form  of  falsehood  aroused  him  to  anger.  Opprei- 
sion  and  all  forms  of  injustice  called  him  to  battle.  It  was  the  neg- 
lect and  the  absence  of  fairness,  to  say  nothing  of  the  injustice,  to- 
wards a  great  Master  of  the  art  of  painting,  that  kindled  the  fire  in 
him  at  the  very  beginning  of  his  life-work.  Obntemptuous  criti- 
cism on  Turner  appeared  in  an  article  in  Blackwood's  Magazine  in 
1843,  and  it  evoked  the  "black  anger"  of  young  Ruskin.  And 
the  persistent,  heroic,  and  triumphant  defence  of  Turner,  which 
then  began  and  did  not  stop  until  the  fifth  volume  of  Modem 
Pamters  was  published,  was  the  crown  of  Raskin's  work  as  a  mas- 
ter of  analysis  and  controversy. 

Perhaps  Ruskin  himself  would  not  have  desired  and  could  not 
have  suggested,  a  more  fitting  monument  to  his  own  self-sacrificing 
and  patient  labors  on  bf  half  of  art  than  the  securing  to  the  worid 
the  magnificent  collection  of  Turner's  landscapes  and  drawings,  on 
free  view  in  the  National  Gallery  of  London.  Mr.  Turner  be- 
queathed the  whole  of  these  works  to  the  Nation,  with  Mr.  Ruskin 
as  onp  of  the  executors.  This  included  about  19,000  drawings,'  most 
of  which,  however,  were  in  a  state  of  confusion— unmounted  and 
partly  spoiled.  "Four  hundred  of  these  were  extricated  from  chaos, 
and  with  infinite  pains,  cleaned,  flattened,  mounted,  dated  and  de- 
scribed, and  placed  in  cabinets.  "The  collection,"  says  OoUingwood, 
"is  a  monument  to  one  man's  genius  and  another's  patience."  All 
this  is  characteristic  of  Ruskin.  Whatever  he  did  was  done  with  his 
whole  heart  and  will. 

The  success  of  Ruskin,  as  an  author,  was  phenomenal.  Other 
authors  of  great  merit,  and  even  of  genius,  had  to  face  the  indif- 
ference, if  not  the  contempt  of  publishers  and  their  "iMders,"  who 
not  infrequently  reject  the  finest  of  manuscripts,  or  accept  them 
grudgingly,  and  on  terms  which  often  mean  humiliation  and  pov- 
erty to  the  author.  Here,  however,  Ruskin  possessed  a  great  advan- 
tage, as  the  son  of  a  rich  merchant  who  could  and,  we  are  told, 
did  transact  the  business  end  of  his  earlier  work  for  him.  More^ 
over,  it  was  a  matter  of  no  great  importance  to  him  i^ether  they 
paid  or  not.  Still,  there  remains  the  fact,  standing  to  his  credit 
from  the  very  beginning,  that  his  works  were  in  instant  demand  and 


» Preface  to  Vol.  5,  Modem  Paioten, 


28  THE  RELIOION  OF  BUSKIN 

soon  became  popular  and  profitable.  The  first  volume  of  Modem 
Painters,  published  in  May,  1843,  as  the  work  of  an  "Oxford  Grad- 
uate" created  a  storm,  end  notwithstanding  that  it  was  severely 
criticised  by  the  influential  reviewers,  as  having  dared  to  set  up 
a  new  standard  of  art  criticism,  the  books  speedily  became  in  great 
demand,  the  name  of  the  anonymous  author  leaked  out,  and  young 
Ruskin  became  the  literary  lion.'  He  "created  a  department  of 
Uterature  all  his  own,  and  adorned  it  with  works  the  like  of  which 
had  never  been  seen. 

He  had  enriched  the  art  of  England  with  examples  of  a  new  and 
beautiful  draughtmanship,  and  the  language  with  passages  of  po- 
etic description  and  declamation,  quite,  in  tiieir  way,  unrivalled.  As 
a  philosopher  he  had  built  up  a  theory  of  art,  as  yet  uncontested; 
and  had  treated  both  its  abstract  nature  and  its  relations  to  human 
conduct  and  policy.  As  a  historian  he  had  thrown  new  light  on 
the  Middle  Ages  and  Renaissance,  illustrating,  in  a  way  then  novel, 
their  chronicles  by  their  remains.  He  had  beaten  down  opposition, 
risen  above  detraction,  and  won  the  prize  of  honor,  only  to  realiie, 
as  he  received  it,  that  the  fight  had  been  but  a  pastime  tourna- 
ment, after  all;  and  to  hear,  through  the  applatiae,  the  enemy's 
trumpet  sounding  to  battle.'"  , 

A  recent  author  who  writes  on  art  has  this  to  say  of  The  influ- 
ence of  Buskin:" 

"His  imagination  reconstructed  the  past.'  He  rescued  half-lost 
treasures  of  art  from  the  power  of  oblivion.  He  went  on  art  pil- 
erimaees  to  old  cities  of  Italy,  and,  at  Florence,  he  spent  months  of 
?ilent  musing  in  its  cool  mediaeval  churches,  regarding  no  other 
critic's  authority,  reading  the  ancient  records  at  fost  hand,  nuxing 
learning  with  intuition,  putting  himself  into  the  place  of  tiie 
builders  and  living  their  lives,  until  the  city  of  Brunellrachi  floury 
ishes  again.  He  studied  Venice  with  the  same  independence,  and 
Verona,  Milan,  Padua,  Bologna,  Assisi,  so  that  Giotto  and  Gentile 
da  Fabriano,  Carpaccio  and  later  masters,  greet  him  as  one  who  loved 
them ;  he  came  up  slowly  to  Amiens,  and,  behold,  the  worid  was  con- 
scious that  it  had  never  before  known  these  churches,  tombs,  sculp- 
tures, and  paintings.  They  were  again  holy  shrrn^  of  prayer  and 
praise,  and  glowed  in  their  pristine  ^len^on.  .ge  opened  th«r 
Wuty  to  ey^  that  never  saw.  .  .  .  He  went  to  the  moral  spnnge, 

1  In  18S3  Ruskin  wrote  to  the  author  of  "The  Life  and  Times  of  ^7^^ ^Tr^ 
•nd  stated  that  he  (Sydney  Smith)  w«.  the^first  in  the  literary  circlet  «t  Un- 
don  tn  asseri  he  wlot  ©I  "Modem  PaiaUn. 

2  Colllngwood. 


TEE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


39 


and  to  those  divine  principlea  of  righteousness  and  power  which 
belong  to  religion  even  as  they  do  to  art.  He  marked  distinctions 
in  the  relative  importance  of  art-ideas  between  the  ideal  and  the 
real,  spiritual  and  sensuous  beauty,  nature  and  imitation,  truth  and 
artificialness."    James  H.  Hoppin — Greai  Epochs  in  Art  History. 

Ruskin  found  the  highest  expression  of  art  in  architecture.  With 
him  th"  art  of  building  is  the  crowning  glory  of  human  genius,  al- 
though he  marks  the  distinction  between  the  mechanical  builder 
and  the  architect.  He  defines  architecture  as  "the  art  which  so 
disposes  and  adorns  the  edifices  raised  by  man  for  whatsoever  uses, 
that  the  sight  of  them  contributes  to  his  mental  health,  power  and 
pleasure,"  while  to  build,  he  says,  is  "to  put  together  and  adjust 
the  several  pieces  of  any  edifice,"  He  also  says,  "I  believe  archi- 
tecture must  be  the  beginning  of  arts,  and  that  the  others  most  fol- 
low her  in  their  time  and  order."* 

Man,  as  he  came  fust  from  the  hands  of  his  Creator — man  in  the 
state  of  nature,  is  the  most  helpless,  the  least  protected  c'  all  the 
animal  world.  In  his  very  birth  there  is  the  suggestion  that  he 
must  himself  evolve  and  produce  his  own  house.  There  ia  a 
possible  looking  backward,  as  well  as  a  personal  experience  in 
the  saying  of  Jesus:  "The  Son  of  Man  hath  not  where  to  lay  his 
head."  This  indeed  expresses  the  truth  of  Man  in  his  normal 
or  primitive  condition.  Nature  clothes  the  lion  and  the  bear 
gives  a  coat  of  wool  to  the  lamb  and  of  feathers  to  the  bird.  The 
ant  and  the  bee  have  each  their  house;  "foxes  have  holes  and  birds 
have  nests."  They  possess  the  instinct  to  find  or  construct  these 
things  to  their  own  needs.  The  marvelous  and  beautiful  structure 
of  the  fu^  spider's  web  was  like  that  of  the  present  day,  and  the 
bees  which  constructed  the  comb  and  found  a  home  in  the  cleft 
of  the  mountain  took  their  lessons  of  Great  Nature  at  the  begin- 
ning and  it  was  then,  as  now,  perfect,  adapted,  beautiful,  and  tatte 
as  the  lines  of  light  from  the  sun. 

But  architecture  is  not  a  gift  of  instinct  by  which  the  first  man 
could  make  for  himself  a  honse  of  wood  or  stone;  it  is  an  evolution 
of  his  intellect  and  genius.  It  is  the  soul  of  strength — an  indenture 
of  progress  and  truth.  There  has  never  been  built  a  house,  by  man 
for  man,  whether  of  mud  or  marble,  which  departed  wholly  from 
the  cardinal  lines  of  moral  truth. 

The  house  which  is  built  wi'hout  iogard  to  truth  is  the  house 

^  Seven  Lamps:  The  Lamp  of  Obedience. 


30  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

on  the  sand,  while  the  house  built  in  truth  is  on  the  rock.  And 
this  literal  truth  represents  the  building  <rf  hnman  character— 'he 
building  oi  the  aool,  as  wdl  as  <tf  the  house  of  shelter,  or  <tf  >  Jt, 

or  worship. 

He  who  carves  a  stone  to  fill  a  niche  must  make  it  mathemati* 

cally  correct,  or  it  will  express  a  lie  and  will  not  fit.  He  who  lays 
bricks  without  regard  to  the  strictest  meter  of  truth  is  putting  his 
own  falsehood  into  the  building — and  no  house  can  stand  that  is 
built  upon  a  lie.  This  is  the  lesson  which  mechanism  gives  to  the 
boy  who  comes  from  a  home  where  no  truth  is.  The  first  demon- 
stration of  truth  to  many  an  one  comes  with  a  fact  of  the  work- 

Bhop  a  piece  of  wood  cut  9  Mooo  inches  will  not  fit  in  a  nine  inch 

space.  When  a  boy  goes  to  the  industrial  school  and  learns  that 
a  wheel  or  pattern  must  be  square,  or  circle,  and  true  to  a  thou- 
sandth part  of  an  inch,  he  meets  a  moral  proposition  as  well  as  a 
mathematical  fact.  If  he  be  careless,  shiftless,  or  untrue  in  the 
measure  of  one  solitary  hair's-breadth,  the  laws  of  nature  smite  him 
in  the  face  as  a  liar. 

All  this  is  embodied  in  the  doctrines  of  work  as  taught  by  Rus- 
kin.'  No  teacher  ever  insisted  more  resolutely  than  he  did  that  the 
moral  quality  of  a  man's  work  is  the  exact  expression  of  his  soul. 
"Every  principle  of  painting,"  he  said,  "which  I  have  stated  is 
traced  to  some  vital  or  spiritual  fact;  and  in  my  works  on  arclu- 
tecture  the  preference  accorded  finally  to  one  school  over  another,  is 
founded  on  a  comparison  of  their  influences  on  the  life  of  the 
workman— a  question  by  all  other  writers  on  the  subject  of  archi- 
tecture wholly  forgotten  or  despised."— Modem  Painters,  Vol.  5. 

Further  even  than  this,  Ruskin  claims  that  "every  form  of  archi- 
tecture is  in  some  sort  the  embodiment  of  the  polity,  life,  history, 
and  religious  faith  of  nations." 

That  thesa  moral  principles  were  ever  in  his  mind  through  all 
his  years  of  labor  is  apparent  as  we  read  his  letters  in  Fors  Clavigera. 
In  one  of  these  letters  written  in  1877  he  says : 

"In  rough  approximation  of  date  near  est  to  the  completion  of  the 
several  pieces  of  my  past  work,  as  the  are  built  one  on  the  other— 
at  twenty,  I  wrote  Modem  Painters;  ai  thirty,  The  Stones  of  Venice, 
at  foTty,  Unto  this  Last;  at  fifty  the  Inaugural  O^ord  lectures;  and, 
if  Fors  Clavigera  is  ever  finished  as  I  mean,  it  will  mark  the  mino 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


31 


I  bad  at  sixty ;  and  leave  me  in  my  seventh  day  of  life,  perlu^i*— 
to  rest.  For  the  code  of  all  I  had  to  teach  will  then  be.  in  form,  as 
it  is  at  this  hour,  in  aubBtance,  completed.  Modem  Pmntera  taught 
the  claim  of  all  lower  nature  on  the  hearts  of  men ;  of  the  rock,  and 
wave,  and  herb,  as  a  part  of  their  necessary  spirit  life;  in  all  that 
I  now  bid  you  to  do,  to  dress  the  earth  and  keep  it,  I  am  fulfilling 
what  I  then  began. 

The  Stones  of  Venice  taught  the  laws  of  constructive  art,  and  the 
dependence  of  all  human  work  or  edifice,  for  its  beauty,  on  the 
happy  life  of  the  workman.  Unto  this  Last  taught  the  laws  of  that 
life  itself,  and  its  dependence  on  the  Sun  of  Justice:  the  Inaugural 
Oxford  lectures,  the  necessity  that  it  should  be  led,  and  the  gracious 
laws  of  beauty  and  labor  recognized,  by  the  upper,  no  less  than  the 
lower,  classes  of  England;  and  lastly  Fnrs  Clavigera  has  declared 
the  relation  of  these  to  each  other,  and  the  only  possible  conditions 
of  peace  and  honor,  for  low  and  high,  rich  and  poor,  together,  in 
the  holding  of  that  first  estate,  under  the  only  despot,  God,  from 
which  whoso  falls,  angel  or  man,  is  kept,  not  mythically  nor  dis- 
putably,  but  here  in  visible  horror  of  chains  under  darkness  to 
the  judgment  of  the  great  day;  and  in  keeping  which  service  is 
perfect  freedom,  and  inheritance  of  all  that  a  loving  Creator  can 
give  to  his  creatures,  and  an  immortal  Father  to  his  children." 

A  year  before  this  he  wrote  about  the  "various  designs  of  which 
he  had  been  merely  collecting  material."  "These  included,"  says 
Mr.  Harrison,  "a  history  of  fifteenth  century  Florentine  art  in  six 
octavo  volumes;  an  analysis  of  the  Attic  art  of  the  fifth  century 
B.  C,  in  three  volumes ;  an  exhaustive  history  of  northern  thirteen 
century  art,  in  ten  volumes;  a  life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  with  an 
analysis  of  modem  epic  art,  in  seven  volumes ;  a  life  of  Xenophon, 
with  analysis  of  the  general  principle  of  education,  in  ten  volumes; 
a  commentary  on  Hesiod,  with  final  analysis  of  the  principles  of 
Political  Economy,  in  nine  volumes;  and  a  general  description  of 
the  geology  and  botany  of  the  Alps,  in  twenty-four  volumes."  If 
it  be  said  that  this  was  a  dream  only,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
all  the  lectures  and  notes,  all  the  joltings  and  memorandums,  of 
his  close  observation  and  frequent  travel  were  collections  of  mate- 
rial for  this  stupendous  scheme.  What  might  have  been  the  out- 
come, if  the  years  of  this  great  soul's  life  had  not  been  interrupted 
by  periods  of  ph3rsical  weakness  and  sometimes  of  utter  proetraticm, 
can  only  be  left  to  the  imagination. 

It  is  no  light  tribute  to  a  man  who  has  written  so  much  when 
it  is  said  that: 

"There  is  not  one  line  that  is  base,  at  eoazie,  or  frivolous;  not  a 


31  THE  BEUOION  OF  RUSKIN 

sentence  that  was  framed  in  envy,  malice,  wantonness  or  cruelty;  not 
one  piece  that  was  written  to  win  money,  or  popularity  or  promo- 
tion; not  8  line  composed  for  any  selfeh  end  or  in  any  trivial  mood. 
...  It  was  always  the  heart's  blood  of  a  rare  genius  and  a  noble 
Boul .  .  .  His  words,  flang  to  the  winds,  have  borne  fruit  a  hun- 
dicdfold  in  lands  that  he  never  thought  of  or  designed  to  reach."* 

If  the  reader  of  this  volume  never  sees  a  full  set  of  the  works 
which  proceeded  from  Ruskin's  brain  and  heart,  he  may  yet  see 
here,  that  he  has  left  to  the  world  a  legacy  which  is  unsurpassed 
in  value,  in  all  the  world  of  philosophic  literature. 

But  greater,  even  than  these  gifts  of  genius,  was  his  personal  life 
—his  splendid  moral  example,  his  pure  unselftshness,  and  self-sac- 
rifice, his  fine,  keen  sense  of  right  and  justice,  his  rare  spirit  of 
absolute  truthfulness,  his  vigorous  and  practical  protest  against 
greed,  extravagance,  waste,  and  all  forms  of  tyranny,  his  snthun- 
asm  for  humanity,  these  all,  in  one  living  personality  and  history 
constitute  a  far  grander  and  more  priceless  gift  to  the  world  than 
all  tb     -oducts  of  his  great  intellect. 


'Harritoo. 


IV 


RUSEIN— REFORMER  AND  ECONOMIST. 

"Far  and  away  the  bMt  prise  that  lift  oOm  ia      Anet  to  nofk  kaid  ftt  wwfc 

worth  doing." — Theodore  Roo$cvelt, 

"Jeiut  saya,  'Leave  father,  mother,  hoate  and  landi,  and  follow  me.'  Who 

leaves  all.  receives  more.    This  is  as  true  intellectually  as  it  is  morally  

A  self-denial  no  loss  austere  than  the  saint's  is  demanded  of  the  scholar.  He  must 
worship  truth,  and  forego  all  things  for  that,  and  choose  defeat  and  pain,  so  that 
hia  treasure  in  thought  is  thereby  augmented. 

"Qod  offera  to  every  mind  its  choice  between  tmtb  and  repose.  Take  which 
yoa  pieaac, — yoa  can  never  have  both.  Between  theie.  as  a  pendulum,  man  osoil- 
latea.  He  In  whom  the  love  of  repose  predomlnatea  will  accept  the  first  creed,  the 
first  philosophy,  the  first  political  party  he  meeU,— most  likely  hi*  fatber'a.  Ha 
gets  rest,  commodity  and  reputation ;  but  he  shuts  the  door  of  trnth.  He  in  whom 
the  love  of  tnith  predominates  will  keep  himself  aloof  from  all  moorings,  and 
afloat.  He  will  abstain  from  dogmatism  and  recognize  all  the  opposite  negations 
between  which,  as  walls,  his  being  is  swung.  He  submits  to  the  inconvenience  of 
suspense  and  imperfect  opinion,  but  he  is  a  candidate  for  truth,  as  the  other  it 
not,  and  respects  rhe  highest  law  of  his  being."— A'merson;  Euay  on  Intellect. 

It  may  be  said  that  no  fundamental  truth  was  ever  expressed  with* 
out  a  paradox.  Perhaps  indeed,  it  cannot  be,  since  every  such  truth 
involves  another.  In  saying:— "Whosoever  will  save  his  life  shall 
lose  it,"  Jesus  made  a  statement  at  once  startling  and  perplexing;  yet 
it  is  the  testimony  of  human  experience  that  no  moral  gain  comes  to 
him  who  gives  in  otda  to  gain,  and  no  llf»-IoH  falls  to  him  who 
gives  to  save  others. 

Ruskin,  himself  a  paradox,  was  a  striking  example  of  this  two-edge 
truth.  "Like  Emerson,"  as  Jenkin  Lloyd  Jones  says,  "he  was  great 
enoufh  to  contradict  himself  as  often  as  he  chose."' 

No  man  of  his  time  was  more  radical  in  regard  to  what  seemed  to 
him  a  social  or  political  wrong;  yet  he  was  rigidly  conservative  in 
some  of  the  recognised  channels  of  public  policy  and  action.  He  de- 
clared himself  a  "Tory  of  the  Tories,"  thus  assuming  all  the  old  con- 

*  "Doubtless  one  reason  for  the  antagonism  shown  to  Raskin  as  an  Economist 
was  the  impossibility  of  classifying  him.  Ht  bewildered  people.  The  English 
public  anderstood  a  Tory,  it  nnderstood  a  Radical.  Rnakin  was  both,  and  neither. 
He  called  himself  a  vehement  Tory  of  the  old  school :  yet  ht  criticited  tht  wage* 
system,  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  present  todal  order,  Ukt  a  OoBann* 
ist  He  denounced  Ubtrty :  yet  he  hated  oppreation.  No  main  tint  atn  ibook 
their  pinded  heads,  and  btw«iM  SitiUB't  paarioa      paradox."— FiAi  D.  Seuddtr, 

33 


THE  RELIOirN  OF  RUSKIN 


servatism  of  the  itatu  quo,  and  yet  he  hated  the  old  forma  of  creed 
and  doctrine— whether  religious  or  political — which  were  current  in 
hia  day,  and  he  preiaed  the  whole  weight  of  hia  word  and  work 
against  them.  He  was  impatient  with  men  on  the  score  of  duty,  yet 
at  the  age  of  forty-six,  he  tells  us,  "he  had  never  votad  in  his  life, 
nor  ever  meant  to  do  so."* 

His  views  on  political  economy  were  so  directly  opposite  to  the  cur- 
rent teaching  of  men  like  Mill  and  Fawcett  that  he  fell  upon  them 
with  all  the  rigor  of  his  forceful  criticism  and  irony;  in  this  he  was 
severe  and  merciless,  yet  in  his  personal  contact  with  tom  $xA 
women  he  was  uniformly  gentle  and  considerate.* 

He  was  impractical  and  v  x>pian  in  some  of  his  viewi  and  yvf 
doggedly  persistent  in  their  advocacy.  He  despised  common  vices  aa 
inconsistent  with  moral  truth  and  purity,  declaiming  against  those 
who  "would  put  the  filth  of  tobacco  even  into  the  fresh  breeie  of  a 
May  morning."  He  was  liberal  of  his  talents  and  money,  yet  he  in- 
sisted upon  the  sale  of  his  books  at  high  prices,  rejecting  with  scorn 
the  suggestion  of  popularity  through  cheapness. 

As  a  political  economist  he  was  decidedly  and  valorously  hetero- 
dox. But  he  has  given  the  Commercial  World  some  "nuts  to  crack" 
and  has  set  the  teeth  of  Political  Economurts  on  edge  with  his  sharp 
attack.  And,  if  we  mistake  not,  the  time  is  rapidly  approaching 
when  he  will  be  as  well,  if  not  bettei,  appreciated  for  hia  teachings 
on  this  subject  as  for  his  chosen  theme  of  art.  He  says: — ^"PolitioeJ 
economy  (the  economy  of  a  State,  or  of  citizens)  consists  simply  in 
the  production,  preservation,  and  distribution,  at  fittest  time  and 
place,  of  useful  or  pleasurable  things.  The  farmer  who  cats  his  hay 
at  the  right  time ;  the  ship-wright  who  drives  his  bolts  well  home  in 
sound  wood ;  the  builder  who  lays  good  bricks  in  weU-t«mpcred  mor- 
tar; the  housewife  who  takes  care  of  her  furniture  in  the  parlor, 
and  guards  against  all  wa^-te  in  her  kitchen ;  and  the  singer  who 
rightly  disciplines,  and  never  overstrains  her  voice;  are  all  political 
economists  in  the  true  and  final  sense;  adding  continually  to  the 
riches  and  well-being  of  the  nation  to  which  they  belong."* 

It  is  here  ^'^at  Ruskin  joins  hands  and  seems  to  touch  heart,  with 
his  great  fi  -id,  whom  he  delisted  to  regard  as  his  master  and 
teacher — ^Thomas  Carlyle. 

»Tlme  tnd  Tide,  Letter  xix. 

'  See  Cbapter  on  Buakin  the  Mu. 

*  Vmto  TUt  L—t. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RVSKIN 


SS 


It  has  been  well  pointed  out  that  "there  is  to  be  found  in  both  men 
•  body  of  positive  teaching  almost  identical  in  proposal  of  practical 
methods  and  solutions.   'Ftet  ud  PMMDt'  ii  tht  b«l  emnantarr 

of  'Unto  This  Last' "»  w»™i««y 

Inthofoar8plendides»ys,«)nstitutingtbis  work,  wo  have  the 
gospel  of  political  economy  clearly  dcfine<l  from  his  standpoint, 
and  prophetically  procUimed.  Of  all  our  author's  great  works,  the 
economic  doctrines  advocated  and  expounded  in  these  essays  and  in 
"Muncra  Pulveris"  are  the  most  epoch  making,  and  „e  are  inclined 
to  agree  with  Harrison  in  the  opinion,  that  they  "are  the  moil 
lerviceable  things  that  Ruiidn  gave  to  tiie  world." 

Nowhere  else,  that  we  have  been  able  to  discover,  among  modem 
writers  can  there  be  found  such  clear,  consistent  teaching  on  the  fun- 
damental principles  of  political  economy.  Ruskin  sees  that  truth  is 
harmoni<  11,^  that  no  doctrine  can  be  right  which  is  inconsistent 
with  moral  law,  no  matter  how  wk*  Vply,  and  apparently  wise,  it 
may  be  stated.  He  mm  that  the  o.  i '  rew  Prophets  had  a  true 
conception  of  economy  as  it  applies  to  the  m(nal  nature  as  well  ae  to 
physical  desires.  "Wherefore  do  ye  spend  money  for  that  which 
18  not  bread;  and  your  labor  for  that  which  satisfieth  not?"  are  ques- 
tions fundamental,  alike  to  the  physical  and  the  moral  life.  His 
definitions  are  as  dear  as  his  moral  principles  are  sound.  Witness 
the  following  note  distinguishing  between  "value"  and  "price:"— 

"It  were  to  be  wished  that  our  well-educated  merchants  recalled  to 
mmd  always  this  much  of  their  Latin  schooling,— that  the  nomine 
ive  ot  valorem  is  valor.  Valor,  from  valere,  to  be  well,  or  stoong 
(vyia/,^);  Strong  m  life  (if  a  man),  or  valiant;  strong  for  life  (5 
a  thing)  or  valuable.  To  be  "valuable,"  therefore,  is  to  "avail  to- 
wards  life  A  truly  valuable  or  availing  thing  is  that  which  leads 
to  life  with  Its  whole  strength.  In  proportion  as  it  does  not  lead  to 
life,  OT  as  Its  strength  is  broken,  it  is  less  valuable;  in  proportion  as 
It  leads  away  from  life,  it  is  unvaluable  or  malignant 

«„o?rt      ^2-  ^  ^^^'^^%^>  '>  in<5ependent  of  opinion,  and  of 

quantity.  Think  what  you  will  of  it,  gain  how  much  you  may  of 
1  ,  the  value  of  the  thing  itself  is  neither  greater  nor  le^.  Forever 
It  avails  or  avails  not;  no  estimate  can  raise,  no  disdain  depress,  the 
power  which  it  holds  from  the  Maker  of  things  and  of  men.'" 

Such  a  definition  as  this  is  final.  One  can  anchor  to  it  and  feel 
that  there  are  noiUfiing  sands  under  it  Value  is  not  determined 

•John  Ruskin.  hj  V!da  B.  8.'«J4ep.  p.  189. 
*  Unto  TkU  Latt!  £May  4. 


36  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

1>y  price,  for  the  latter  changes  with  supply  and  with  desire  and 
caprice.   Often  the  price  of  an  article  in  tiie  oommerdal  wwld  bean 

no  relation  to  its  value.  Ruskin  traces  value  to  the  "Maker  of  things 
and  of  men."  That  is  the  greatest  into  which  God  has  im- 
pressed most  of  himself.  That  in  which  there  is  mora  of  elemen- 
tary power  for  beauty  and  utility  is  of  more  value.  In  so  much  as 
there  is  more  of  Nature  and  of  God  in  a  bird  than  in  a  diamond  or 
a  ruby  there  is  more  of  value  in  it  Carry  this  thoo^t  upward  and 
we  see  why  man  is  essentially  "of  mora  value  than  many  qpaiTOWB," 
or  of  many  precious  stones.* 

The  aim  of  political  economy  according  to  Raskin  is  "the  multi- 
plication of  human  life  at  the  highest  standard."  "There  is  no 
wealth  but  life"  he  declares  and  very  seriously  he  asks: — "May  not 
the  manufacture  of  souls  of  a  good  quality  be  worthy  our  attention.'* 

Ruskin  had  much  to  say  to  men  who  accumulate  large  fortunes. 
"No  man,"  he  said,  "can  become  largely  rich  by  his  own  personal 
toil  .  .  .  it  is  only  by  the  discovery  of  some  method  of  taring  <h© 
labor  of  others  that  he  can  become  opulent.  Every  increase  of  his 
capital  enables  him  to  extend  this  taxation  more  widely.  .  .  . 
Large  fortunes  cannot  honestly  be  made  by  the  work  of  one  man's 
hands  or  head.  If  his  work  benefits  multitudes,  and  involves  posi- 
tion of  high  trust  it  may  be  (I  do  not  say  that  it  it)  expedient  to  re- 
ward him  with  great  wealth  or  estate;  but  fortune  of  this  kind  it 
freely  given  in  gratitude  for  benefit,  not  as  payment  for  labor.'** 

Thus  he  disputes  the  right  of  any  man  to  become  a  multi-million- 
aire, and  his  doctrines  of  interest  and  money  are  consistent  with  this 
attitude.  His  vigorous  protest  against  usury  Osikf  at  the  very  root 
of  the  matter,  for  it  includes  the  condemnation  of  all  "interest"  on 
money.  In  this  he  was  not  so  radical,  as  in  some  of  his  views,  for 
he  justified  the  ownership  of  interest  bearing  stock.  He  said,  "I 
hold  bank  stock  simply  because  I  suppose  it  to  be  safer  than  any 
other  stock,  and  I  take  the  interest  of  it,  because  though  taking  inter- 
est is,  in  the  abstract,  as  wrong  as  war,  the  entire  fabric  of  society  is 

» When  U  Is  said  that  "the  wry  Jewel  in  your  ring  would  protect  from  hunger 
a  mass  of  people"  (AmbroseK  there  is  danger  of  wrongly  viewing  the  value  of  the 
Jewel.  The  price  for  which  a  jewel  may  be  sold  would  purchase  food  and  stay 
the  temporary  hunger  of  a  number  of  people,  and  the  sale  of  it,  for  such  a  pur- 
pose, would  be  a  benevolent  deed :  but  the  Jewel  belongs  to  another  realm  Iban 
food.  All  the  jewels  in  tte  worid  would  not  (Md  «M  iaagtj  ^Ud. -gdlt. 
STime  and  Tid& 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  „ 

at  preeent  80  connected  with  both  usury  and  war,  that  it  is  not  domi. 

We  violmtly  to  withdraw  from  either  evil.'" 

Consistent  with  this  view  of  interest  Raskin  had  radical  ideas  of 
money.   Money  is  not  wealth,  but  a  documentary  claim  to  wealth 

Tbu  view  of  interest,  which  Ruskin  emphasised  and  illustrated  in 
his  later  writmgs^  has  occasioned  much  controversy  and  many  of 
Kuskm  s  admirers  class  it  among  his  Utopian  ideas.  "I  lent  one  of 
my  servants"  he  says,  "eleven  hundred  pounds,  to  build  a  house  with 
and  stock  its  grounds.  After  some  years  he  paid  me  back  the  eleven 
hundred  pounds.  If  I  had  taken  eleven  hundred  pounds,  and 
a  penny,  the  extra  penny  would  have  been  usury." 

But  another  closely  related  doctrine  in  his  mind  was  that  of 
money  itself.  He  defined  money  as  "a  documentary  expression  of 
legal  claim,  and  vigorously  endorsed  Aristotle's  remark  that  "Monev 
18  barren."  ' 

"It  is  not  wealth,  but  a  documentary  claim  to  wealth,  being  the 
sign  of  the  relative  quantities  of  it,  or  of  the  labour  producing  it,  to 
which,  at  a  given  time,  persons  or  societies,  are  entitled.  If  all  the 
money  in  the  worid,  notes  and  gold,  were  destroyed  in  an  instant,  it 
would  leave  the  world  neither  richer  nor  poorer  than  it  was.  But 
it  would  leave  the  individual  inhabitants  of  it  in  diflFerent  relations 
Money  is  therefore  correspondent,  in  its  nature,  to  the  titie  deed  of  an 
estate.  Though  the  deed  be  burned,  the  estate  stiH  exists,  but  the 
right  of  It  has  become  disputable."* 

The  present  money  system  of  the  world,  though  borrowed  from  the 
ancient  nations,  seems  to  be  as  far  removed  from  radical  change  as  if 
It  were  the  most  scientific  and  up-to^ate  agency.  And  yet,  as  the 
moral  conscience  becomes  quickened,  and  the  intellectual  perception 
of  tfie  common  people  develop,  through  the  teachings  of  such  men  as 
Ruskm.  who  shall  say  how  soon  a  revolution  of  the  commercial  as- 
pect of  money  may  come? 

It  is  a  common  observation  that  money  is  the  most  absolute 
power  in  the  world.  Ruskin  has  taught  us  that  this  power  is  illegi- 
timate.  Not  that  money  could,  <»  should,  ever  be  divested  ofaU 

1  Fore  Clavicera.    Letter  21. 

2  See  "Fore."  Lettere  68  and  78.  Abo  "Arnm  ^  tlw  (Aua."  ud  miiiji1i.I1- 
The  Lettere  on  U.upy  in  "The  OM  BoiA"  «P«»I^ 

'"Uonem  Pulv*rta,»  CUmp.  I. 


58 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


power,  but  in  vesting  it  with  "legal  interest"  it  becomes  an  imperioos 
and  oppressive  tax  on  all  forms  of  wealth.' 

On  the  subject  of  taxes,  by  the  way,  he  said  "In  true  justice,  the 
only  honest,  and  wholly  right,  tax  is  one  not  merely  on  income,  but 
property,  increasing  in  percentage  as  the  property  is  greater.  And 
the  main  virtue  of  such  a  tax  is  that  it  makm  pubUdy  known  wbrt 
every  man  has,  and  how  he  gets  it.'"  ^       v    -d  t-  v 

It  is  chiefly  on  account  of  his  economic  teachings  that  Buskm  baa 
BO  often  been  classed  as  a  Socialist  Mr.  Hobson  chums  that  in  the 
sense  that  socialism  is  a  unity  of  persons  for  "a  common  end  or  pur^ 
pose  which  determines  and  imposes  the  activities"  of  these  pereons, 
he  was  a  Socialist,  and  further  that,  true  to  Socialism,  he  favored  the 
substitution  of  public  for  private  enterprise  and  pubUc  support  and 
control  of  individual  life  by  the  State '  .       j  _s  * 

But  Ruskin  was  too  really  a  conservator  of  authority  and  order  to 
be  a  recognised  oocialist.  In  spite  of  his  vigorous  protests  agamst 
the  usurpation  of  kings  and  priests,  through  the  agency  of  money 
and  war,  he  held  strongly  to  the  duty  end  value  of  reverence  and 
obedience,  and  just  as  strongly  denounced  the  Uberty  and  detooenef 

of  socialism.  ,   ,  .        ic  u 

As  a  Reformer  Ruskin  ernployed  all  his  great  talents  m  unselfish 
service.  He  literally  consecrated  all  he  had  and  all  he  was  to  Uie 
advancement  of  human  good  as  he  understood  it.  His  aim  in  his 
lectures  to  workmen  and  others  was  to  impart  knowledge  and  stimu- 
late  to  right  thinking  all  who  heard  his  words  of  wisdom  and  learn- 
ing.   In  the  same  self-sacriBcing  spirit  he  gave  freely  of  his  wcaltn. 

»A  rery  friendlr  and  able  review  of  Rutiin  a*  a  facial  ^>;f'>"^Zi,\^l\„l' 

of  men  who  exact  a  tax  tor  their  nte  without  gharinf  the  risks.  There  is  all  tae 
Alhi^  tetMM  th«  rieht  of  an  Individual  to  become  a  partner  w.th  another  in 
SrSHf  htatSner  thereby  Bharing  It.  profits  and  losses;  and  the  PJ^w^nt  "y- 
emlwoh  Sn'^money  with  arbitrary  Pow^r  over  every  specie,  o  w^lth  and  p^ 
du"  Ive  service.  "Lewi  Interest"  knows  nothing  of  th«  .^^^T 
whether  in  the  farm  or  the  -hop.  It Jnowa  <.nly  f*!"*  "  ™ 
With  a  force  mow-  imperiow  uA  irwrirtiMe  than  a  rmrannit  tax.— SM. 

a  Fors,  1 :  Letter  7.  „ 

•Joba  RoaUn,  Sedal  Bafoimar.  HobMO.  v,  iw. 


i 
I 


f 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


39 


At  his  father's  death  he  inherited  a  fortune  equal  to  about  a  million 
of  doUan.  This,  together  with  large  sums  of  money  earned  by  his 
work  as  author  and  lecturer,  he  regarded  as  so  much  of  talent  with 
which  to  do  good  to  mankind.  In  his  giving  he  did  not  measure 
by  what  other  people  did,  nor  did  he  stop  at  a  tithe,  he  reserved  bare* 
ly  the  tenth  for  himself  and  gave  the  rest.  One  of  his  favorite  chan« 
nels  of  beneficence  may  well  be  commended  to  American  million- 
aires who  are  seeking  for  a  disposition  of  some  of  their  sorplos 
wealth.  He  made  himself  persoDally  acquainted  with  young  men 
and  women  who  were  struggling  against  odds,  to  educate  themselves, 
or  otherwise  to  gain  a  position  in  the  world.  These  he  helped,  not 
only  with  advire,  but  with  money  and  influence.  Poor,  struggling 
artists  frequently  found  in  him  a  ready  and  generous  friend.  In  a 
single  year  his  benefactions  reached  the  sum  of  $76,000. 

Another  suggestion  to  the  rich  comes  from  his  inaugurating  the 
building  of  apartment  houses  and  cottap*?s  for  working  men,  where 
they  could  live  like  Christiaiis  without  being  crushed  under  exorbi- 
tant  rents.  This  latter  work  was  greatly  aided  by  the  famous 
George  Peabody,  who  built  a  number  of  such  homes  in  London.* 

Ruskin  was  never  able,  in  his  thoughts  of  the  United  States,  as  a 
nation,  to  do  it  justice.  His  view  of  liberty,  which  seems  to  have  in- 
cluded the  absence  of  restraint,  prevented  him  from  seeing  that  the 

1  President  Roosevelt's  call  for  American  family  life  needs  to  be  supplemented 
by  a  practical  scheme  of  philanthropic  enterprise  to  make  home-keeping  possible. 
The  city  flat,  as  a  home,  is  far  from  ideal :  costinR  from  one-quarter  to  one-half 
the  average  earnings  of  the  people,  it  is,  nevertheless,  little  more  than  a  lodgins 
in  a  hotel,  and  is  subject  to  frequent  changes,  with  "notices  to  quit,"  just  when 
increase  of  family  renden  it  bard  and  tzpnaiva  to  ttaon. 

The  philanthropic  capiuliat  who  bnlldt  iibniiw  and  wdewt  eollciM  ii  000001^ 
atlBS  and  helping  a*  to  intelligent  dtisenshipt  bat  ho  who  wlU  ia?«t  in  the  bviM* 
Ing  of  eottagee  for  the  struggling  bome-fonnden  will  do  vaatly  aMre  tewatdi  th* 
bnildittg  of  a  eafe  and  Intelligent  Republic. 

If  we  may  take  the  estimate  of  the  American  Federation  of  Women's  Clubs  as 
a  basis,  a  seven-room  cottage,  with  bath-room,  closets,  etc.,  may  be  built  at  a  cost, 
in  different  localities,  of  from  |1,500  to  $2,000.  (Report  of  Convention  at  8t. 
Paul,  if  inn.,  June  4,  1906.)  The  sam?  authorities  estimate  the  cost  of  lots  in 
suburban  places  at  $2S0.00.  If  $250.00  be  added  to  tbcte  oatimatea  we  havo 
$3,000.00  as  the  cost  of  lota  and  cottages.  On  this  eattmate  one  million  dollara 
woaU  bnild  8S8  anch  eottagea.  Thaaa  coald  bo  readily  aoM  on  a  basil  of  cash,  or 
part-caih  paymenta,  or  by  an  easy  system  of  payment-by-rent.  Such  cottages, 
wherever  available,  now  readily  rent  for  from  $20  to  $30  per  month.  If  the 
occupier  paid  the  lesser  of  these  two  amounts  ($20)  he  could  become  the  owner 
in  fifteen  years,  having  paid  $000.00  more  than  the  actual  cost  ($3.000). suflicient 
for  management  expenses,  taxes,  and  repaira.  Meantime  the  rent,  or  purchase 
money,  would  be  tniilding  other  such  houses,  the  original  capital  perpetuating 
itself,— a  self-projecting  fund,  safer  and  more  pxodaetiM  thsa  Ik*  bsst  fom  oC 
cndovrmcnt,  nhicii  emplojrs  interest  onif. — Edit. 


40 


THE  RELIOION  OF  RVSKIN 


American  conception  of  liberty  meant  government.  And  while  a 
great  free  Republic  was  certain  to  be  wrongly  interpreted  by  many 
as  free  and  irresponsible  license,  yet  this  wom  not,  and  i»  not  the 

spirit  of  a  true  democracy.  lie  said : 

"If  I  had  to  choose,  I  would  tenfold  rather  see  the  tyranny 
of  old  Austria  triumphant  in  the  old  and  new  worlds,  and  trust  to 
the  chance  (or  rather  the  certainty)  of  some  day  seeing  a  true  Em- 
peror bom  to  its  throne,  than,  with  every  privilege  of  thought  and 
act,  run  the  most  distant  risk  of  seeing  the  thouehts  of  the  people  of 
Germany  and  England  become  like  the  thou^tB  of  the  people  of 
America." 

But  that  splendid  American  citizen  and  public  teacher,  Charles 
Eliot  Norton,  whom  Ruskin  delighted  to  call  the  "dearest  friend  I 
have  in  the  worid"  told  him  ihat  he  "knew  nothing  about  America," 
to  which  Ruskin  answered : — "It  may  be  so,  and  I  therefore  usually 
say  nothing  about  it.  But  this  much  I  have  said,  because  the  Amen- 
cans,  as  a  Nation,  set  their  trust  in  liberty  and  equality,  of  whidi  I 
detest  the  one,  and  deny  the  possibility  of  the  other;  and  because, 
also,  as  a  Nation,  they  are  wholly  undesirous  of  Rest,  and  incap- 
able of  it;  irreverent  of  themselves,  both  in  the  preaent  and  in  tbe  fii* 
ture ;  discontented  with  what  they  are,  ytt  having  no  idaal  of  any^ 
thing  which  they  desire  to  become.* 

It  was  of  course  the  rig^t  and  privilege  of  the  old  world  to  look 
with  critical  eye  upon  the  struggle  of  the  American  Nation  toward 
its  ideal.  For  it  had  an  ideal,  and  one  which  men  of  the  old  world 
could  not  understand,  viz. :  the  divme  right  of  the  People,  expremed 
in  a  completely  democratic  form  of  government  The  world  had  no 
experience,  or  history,  to  guide  it  in  its  judgment  of  this  principle, 
as  the  basis  for  the  government  of  a  great  nation,  and  it  was  to  be  ex- 
pected that  mistakes  would  be  made  in  applying  it.  It  was  also  to  b* 
expected  that  old-world-thinkeis  would  emphasise  the  dangsfi  in- 
volved. 

Ruskin  wrote  some  things  about  America  which  he  did  not  pre- 
'^jrve  and  which  would  have  proved  that  his  friend  Norton  was 
ri^t,  but  he  retained  a  note  upon  the  American  war  which  is  of  in- 
terest, not  only  because  it  applies  to  war  in  general,  but  also  be- 
cause it  emphaases  a  principle  which  ihas  been  observed  in  more 
recent  waia  of  America  to  a  degree  that  is  periiaps  unezan^led  in 

>TiB«i  and  nd*:  Lttter  82. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


4« 


the  world's  history,  and  which,  let  xa  hope,  will  be  yet  better  ob- 
served in  the  futtue.* 

Had  Ruskin  lived  a  few  years  longer  he  might  have  seen  answers 
to  his  criticisms  of  America  which  are  better  than  argument.  Here^ 
above  everywhere,  hia  own  beat  doctrines  of  political  economy  and  r»* 
form  are  in  a  fair  way  to  be  tested  and  approved.  And  while  it  is 
true  that  we  have  not  yet,  in  the  United  States,  reached  the  desired 
haven  of  the  spirit  of  Rest,  yet  our  government  is  establidied  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world.  And  while  kingdoms  are  tottering  and  thrones 
are  insecure,  the  American  Nation  enjoys  a  measure  of  confidence 
and  esteem  which  has  nevw  been  surpassed  in  the  history  of  Nai> 
tions;  and  our  President  ranks,  in  respect  and  honor,  with  tha 
highest  and  greatest  of  the  throned  monarchs  of  the  world. 

*  All  method*  of  right  goTerement  are  to  be  oommnnicated  to  foreign  nations  by 
perfectness  of  ezanrple  and  gentleness  of  patientiy  expanded  power,  not  luddenlj, 
nor  at  the  bayonet's  point  And  though  it  is  the  duty  of  every  nation  to  inter- 
fere, at  bayonet's  point,  if  it  has  the  power  to  do  so,  to  save  any  op- 
pressed multitude,  or  eren  individual,  from  manifest  violenoe.  it  is  wholly  unlawful 
to  interfere  in  such  a  matter,  except  with  sacredly  pledged  limitation  of  the  object* 
to  be  accompiisbed  in  the  oppressed  person's  favor,  and  with  absolute  refusal  of 
all  MtUUk  adTSBtags  aad  iaeiaaaa  of  tarritanr  or  ^  poUtieal  penor  iMA  mi^k 
otbsrwiM  aaeme  bom  Tiotoiy.**— 3%im  omi  TUh,  Lsttsr  831 


V 


RUSKIN— LECTURER  AND  TEACHER. 

"It  is  no  proof  of  a  man's  nnderstanding  to  be  able  to  afflnii  whaterer  h» 
pleases,  but  to  be  able  to  discern  that  wbat  is  true,  is  true,  and  that  what  is  falsff 
is  false ;  this  is  the  mark  and  character  of  intellifoice."— XmimmnmI  AMtfmterv. 

"I  find  this  conclusion  more  impressed  upon  me, — that  the  fieatest  ttiag  • 
human  soul  ever  does  in  this  world  is  to  tee  something,  and  tell  what  it  Mw  la 
a  plain  way.  Hundreds  of  people  can  talk  for  one  who  can  think,  bat  Oonsand* 
can  think  for  one  who  can  see.  To  see  cleariy  ia  po«t(7,  pnmbMy.  and  relision.— 

all  in  one."— Modem  Painters,  Vol.  3. 

Ruskin,  as  a  teacher,  was  the  same  untiring,  self-sacrificing  soul 
as  in  all  other  of  the  many  forms  of  service  which  he  rendered  to 
humanity.  His  was  the  giving  of  genius,  which  knows  no  limit, 
which  pours  itself  out  without  stint  or  self-thought  and  which  works 
Trith  multiplied  powers  when  the  object  in  view  is  a  beneficent  one. 

He  lectured  and  taught  for  the  love  of  the  work,  but  yet  more  for 
the  opportunity  which  the  work  afforded  him  to  impart  knowledge 
to  others.  He  found  no  greater  pleasure  than  in  the  study  of  moun- 
tain, river,  tree,  flower,  or  any  other  of  Nature's  many  forms  of 
expression,  in  order  that  he  might  give  it  out  to  the  truth-seeker. 
Very  earnestly  he  taught  that  the  ennobling  and  truly  profitable 
thing  in  all  work  lies,  not  alone  in  its  productivenes.'S,  but  also  in 
its  co-operation  with  providence,  for  if  it  fails  to  give  itself  it  loses 
power.  His  counsel  to  artists  on  this  subject  appeals  with  equal 
force  to  all  other  workmen: 

"Wherever  art  is  practiced  for  its  own  sake,  and  the  delight  of  the 
workman  is  in  what  he  does  and  produces,  instead  of  wbat  he  inter' 
prcts  or  exhibits, — there  art  has  an  influence  of  the  most  fatal  kind 
on  brain  and  heart,  and  it  issues,  if  long  so  pursued,  in  the  destruc- 
tion, both  of  intellectual  power  and  moral  principle;  whereas  art, 
devoted  humbly  and  seli-forgetfully  to  the  clear  statement  and 
record  of  the  facts  of  the  universe,  is  always  helpful  and  beneficent 
to  mankind,  full  of  comfort,  strength,   and  salvation.    .    .  . 

Reverence,  then,  and  compassion,  we  are  to  teach  primarily,  and 
with  these,  as  the  bond  and  guardian  of  them,  truth  of  spirit  and 
word,  of  thought  and  sight.  Truth,  earnest  and  passionate,  sought 
for  like  a  treasure  and  kept  like  a  crown." 

4S 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


43 


If  Ruakin  were  living  in  this  age  he  would  have  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  one  of  his  pet  ideas  of  education  in  full  force  in  many 
of  our  schools.  Manual  training  is  almost  past  the  experimentfd 
stage.  To  what  extent  Ruskin's  advocacy  influenced  this  result 
it  is,  of  ooone,  impossible  to  estimate^  but  it  is  inteveitliig  to  not* 
what  h«  said  on  the  sabjeet: 

"It  would  be  part  of  my  scheme  of  physical  education  that  every 
youth  in  the  state — from  the  king's  son  downwards — should  learn 
to  do  something  finely  and  thoroughly  with  his  hand,  so  as  to  let 
him  know  what  touch  meant;  and  what  stout  craftmanship  meant; 
and  to  inform  him  of  many  things  besides,  which  no  man  can  learn 
but  by  some  severely  accurate  discipline  in  doing.  Let  him  once 
learn  to  take  a  straight  shaving  ofiF  a  plank,  or  draw  a  fine  curve  with- 
out faltering,  or  lay  a  brick  level  in  its  mortar;  and  he  has  learned 
a  multitude  of  other  matters  which  no  lips  of  man  could  ever 
teach  him.  He  might  choose  his  craft,  but  whatever  it  was,  he 
should  learn  it  to  some  sufficient  degree  of  true  dexterity;  and  the 
result  would  be,  in  after  life,  that  among  the  middle  classes  a  good 
deal  of  their  house  furniture  would  be  made,  and  a  good  deal  of 
roudi  work,  more  or  less  clumsily,  but  not  ineffectively,  got  through, 
by  the  master  himself  and  his  sons,  with  much  furtherance  of  their 
general  health  and  peace  of  mind,  and  increase  of  innocent  do- 
mestic pride  and  pleasure,  and  to  the  extinction  of  a  great  deal  <rf 
vulgar  upholstery  and  other  mean  handicraft."* 

"Education,"  he  says  again,  "does  not  mean  teaching  people 
to  know  what  they  do  not  know;  it  means  teaching  them  to  behave 
as  they  do  not  behave.  It  is  not  teaching  the  youth  the  shapes  of 
letters  and  the  tricks  of  numbers,  and  then  leaving  them  to  turn 
their  eritimietic  to  roguery  and  their  literature  to  lust.* 

The  manner  and  methods  of  Ruskin  when  teaching  were  de- 
lightful. We  have  CoUingwood's  authority  for  the  statement  that 
Buskin  was  the  first  to  provide  casts  from  natural  leaves  and  fruit 
and  even  trees,  in  the  classroom,  "in  place  of  the  ordinary  conven- 
tional ornament."  For  iketching  from  nature  he  took  his  classes 
"out  into  the  country  and  would  wind  up  with  tea  and  talk.'*  Art 

»Time  and  Tide:    Letttr  16.    Ibid.  21. 

»Mr.  HobBon  makes  the  followinR  pertinent  comment  on  tbis:  "There  Is  o^y 
too  great  reason  to  believe  that  the  plague  of  gambUng.  whldi  !•  «applng  »• 
moral  Mfe,  and  the  twin  evil  «t  th*  ■MiMtioiw  eommmptioa  ot  tu  lowert  oiden 
of  sensational  journalism,  ara  tha  natanl  and  neeaanqr  nmito  of  a  "^UoBal  aflB- 
eation  which  enda  in  taadriag  to  tmi  and  to  ealeoktt  tiw  odda,  withoat  una 
tempering  theae  pioceaaea  witt  humanicins  elommta."— ^/ok*  BmMm,  BoeUl  B*- 
faraiar,  page  270. 


44  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

students  of  the  present  day  wUl  see  nothing  novel  in  Ruskin's  uae 
of  paper  and  charcoal  drawings  in  his  lecture  illustrations,  but 
those  of  our  large  cities  may  sigh  in  Tain  for  the  romantic  yicH  to 
the  country,  where  they  can  receive  instruction  from  teacher  and 
natupe,  and  at  the  same  time  enjoy  the  recreation  and  inspiration 
of  the  courtry  scenery. 

Education  was  one  of  the  '"three  heads  of  purpose"  of  St.  George's 
Guild  and  as  Ruskin's  influence  in  this  institution  was  supreme, 
he  could  carry  out  his  plans  in  his  own  way.  "In  their  libnma? 
he  said,  there  shaU  be  none  but  noble  books  and  in  their  sight  none 
but  noble  art."  These  he  furnished,  books  of  his  own  selection  and 
cost,  and  pictures  from  his  own  private  collection. 

As  to  the  possession  of  wealth,  Ruskin  reminds  one  of  Tolstoi  al- 
though he  taught  his  doctrines  long  before  the  Russian  reformer 
^y£LJ  known  to  the  world.  He  calls  himself  a  "Communist  of  the 
old  school.     And  he  explains  what  he  means  by  this  term. 

"First,  it  means  that  everybody  must  work  in  common,  and  do 
nZX     A'^^^\r:V'''  I?;?  •  •  •  The  second  respedJ 

llT^J'y''^-     n  ^u^^      P"**^'**'  "  common,  wealth  shall  be  fnore 
and  statelier  in  all  its  substance  than  private  wealth-the  fountains 
wHich  furnish  the  people's  common  dnnk  should  be  very  lovely  and 
stately,  and  adorned  with  precious  marbles,  and  the  like.  Then 
lartner.  .  .  the  private  dwellings  of  uncommon  persons— dukes 
ana  lords— are  to  be  very  simple,  and  roughly  put  tojrether.  such 
persons  being  supposed  to  be  above  all  care  for  things  that  pleaee 
the  commonality;  but  all  the  buildings  for  public  or  common  serv- 
ice,  more  especially  schools,  almshouses  and  workhouses,  are  to 
be  externally  of  a  rmjjestic  character,  as  being  for  noble  purposes 
and  charities,  and  their  mtenors  furnished  with  many  luxuri^  for 
the  poor  and  sick.  And  finally  and  chiefly,  it  is  an  absolute  law  of 
Old  Communism  that  the  fortunes  of  private  person?  should  be 
small  and  of  little  account  in  the  state;  but  the  common  treasury  of 
the  whole  nation  should  be  of  superb  and  precious  things  in  redun- 
dant quantity,  as  pictures,  statues,  precious  books,  gold  and  sUver 
vessels,  preserved  from  ancient  times,  gold  and  silver  bullion  laid 
up  for  use,  in  case  of  any  chance  need  of  buving  anything  suddenly 
from  foreign  nations.  ...  And  in  a  word  that  instead  of  a  com- 
mon  poverty,  or  national  debt,  which  everv  poor  person  in  the  nation 
IS  taxed  annually  to  fulfill  his  part  of,  there  should  be  a  common 
wealth,  or  national  reverse  of  debt  consisting  of  pleasant  things  which 
every  j)oor  person  in  the  nation  should  be  aommoned  to  ie»dve  his 


*Fort,  Vol.  r.  Letter  VIL 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


4S 


Of  course,  rich  man  as  Ruskin  was  and  advocating  such  views, 
he  was  flooded  with  correspondence  on  the  subject  "How  could 
he  retain  his  wealth  and      piodaim  such  doctrines?" 

This  correspondence  came  from  all  sorts  of  people.  In  defence 
of  private  wealth  one  writer  claimed  that  the  rich  man  came  to  his 
wealth  through  a  mutually  beneficent  partnership  between  the  rich 
and  the  poor  by  which  the  poor  shared  in  the  joint  result.  Another 
asked  the  question:  "Where  does  the  rich  man  get  his  living?" 
In  answering,  Ruskin  made  himself  an  example  to  illustrate  the 
position,  and  this  is  what  he  said: 

"Where  does  the  rich  man  get  his  means  of  living?"  I  don't  myself 
see  how  a  more  straightforward  question  could  be  putl  so  straight* 
forward,  indeed,  that  I  particularly  dislike  making  a  martyr  of 
myself  in  answering  it,  as  I  must  this  blessed  day — a  martyr,  at 
least,  in  the  way  of  witness;  for  if  we  rich  people  don't  begin  to 
spesik  honestly  with  our  tongues,  we  shall,  some  day  soon,  lose  them 
and  our  heads  together,  having  for  some  time  back,  most  of  us,  made 
false  use  of  the  one  and  none  of  Uie  other.  Well,  for  the  point  in 
question,  then,  as  to  means  of  living;  the  most  exemplary  manner 
of  answc  is  simply  to  state  how  I  got  my  own,  or  rather  how  my 
father  got  them  for  me.  He  and  his  partners  entered  into  what 
your  correspondent  meliifluously  styles  "a  mutually  beneficent 
partnership'*^  with  certain  laborers  in  Spain.  Those  laborers  pro- 
duced from  the  earUi  annuallv  a  certain  number  of  bottles  of  wme. 
These  productions  were  sold  by  my  father  and  his  partners,  who 
kept  nme-tenths,  or  thereabouts,  of  the  price  themselves,  and  gave 
one-tenth,  or  thereabouts,  to  the  laborers.  In  which  state  of  mutual 
beneficence  my  father  and  his  partners  naturally  became  ridi,  and 
the  laborers  as  naturally  remained  poor.  Then  my  good  father  gave 
all  his  money  to  me." 

One  cannot  imagine  a  rich  man,  raised  in  the  midst  of  luxury, 
and  aocnstcmed  to  all  the  advantages  which  sn  abundance  of  wealth 
brings,  reaching  the  point  of  such  deliberate  denunciations  of  his 
own  possessions,  unless  he  had  first,  honestly  and  severely,  put  him- 
self in  the  place  of  the  poor,  and  to  do  this  he  must  have  passed 
through  long  and  keen  suffering  for  others. 

But  this  is  in  perfect  accord  with  all  testimony  of  his  noble  life. 
Mr.  CoUingwood  quotes  an  anonymous  writer  in  the  New  Review, 
(March,  1892) ,  who  thus  speaks  of  him :  "Ruskin,  the  good  Samari- 
tan, ever  genUe  and  open-handed,  when  true  need  and  a  good  cause 
made  appeal  to  his  heart;  Buskin,  the  employw,  e(msidetate,  gen- 
wooi— an  idbal  mastar." 


46 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


One  does  not  now  need  a  prophet'a  vision  to  see  how  Ruakin's 
Tiews  of  publie  ownership  of  public  utilities  is  gradoally  being  ao> 
cepted  as  a  practical  fact.  He  was  away  ahatd,  •ftn  <tf  pimmt  itf 

thought,  on  tho  subject  when  he  says: 

"Neither  the  roads  nor  the  railroads  of  any  nation  should  belong 
to  any  private  persons.  All  means  of  public  transit  should  be  pro* 
Tided  at  public  eroense,  by  public  determination,  where  such  means 
are  needed,  and  the  public  should  be  its  own  shareholder.  Neither 

road,  nor  railroad,  nor  canal  should  ever  pay  dividends  to  anybody. 
They  should  pay  their  working  expenses,  and  no  more.  All  divi- 
dends are  simply  a  tax  on  the  traveler  and  the  goods,  levied  by  the 
persons  to  whom  the  road  or  canal  belongs,  for  the  right  of  passing 
over  his  property,  and  this  right  should  at  once  be  purchased  by 
the  nation,  and  tiie  original  cost  of  the  roadway — ^be  it  of  gravel, 
iron,  or  adamant — at  once  defrayed  by  the  nation,  and  then  the 
whole  work  of  the  carriage  of  persons  or  goods  done  for  ascertained 
prices,  by  salaried  officers,  as  the  carriage  of  letters  is  done  now." 

He  was  in  advance  of  Henry  George  as  an  advocate  of  public 
rights  in  land.  In  1882  he  wrote  to  Miss  Mary  Gladstone,  daughter 

of  Wm.  E.  Gladstone,  as  follows: 

"For  these  seven,  nay  these  ten  years,  I  have  tried  to  get  either 
Mr.  Gladstone,  or  any  other  conscientious  Minister  of  the  Crown,  to 
feel  that  the  law  of  land-possession  was  for  all  the  world,  and  eternal 
as  the  mountains  and  the  sea.  Those  who  possess  the  land  must 
live  on  it,  not  by  taxing  it.  Stars  and  seas  and  rocks  must  pass 
away  before  that  Word  of  God  shall  pass  away — 'The  land  is 
Mine.* " 

No  one  will  be  surprised  to  find  fractures  in  the  practical  side 
of  some  of  the  proposed  reforms  of  Ruskin.  He  saw  every  form  of 
social  error  and  wrong  with  the  vision  of  a  seer,  and  he  had  naxeh 
of  the  prophetic  quality  necessary  to  statesmanship,  but  he  lacked 

the  experience. 

Very  positively  he  wrote  on  the  evils  of  early  and  im- 
provident marriages.  When  he  says  that  "ugly  and  fatal  as  is 
every  form  and  agency  of  license,  no  licentiousness  ia  so  mortal  as 
licentiousness  in  marriage"  he  strikes  at  the  root  of  a  great  evil; 
but  when  he  advocates  that  the  remedy  lies  in  denying  marriage 
to  all  who  have  not  first  proved  their  moral  fitness,  he  overlooks  the 
fatal  licentiousness  that  would  be  certain  to  attend  such  a  plan  in 
any  free  country.  Yet  in  this,  as  in  every  change  he  ever  proposed, 
there  is  much  valuable  food  for  thooght,  as  well  as  practical  sug- 
gestion for  our  own  statesmen: 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKJN 


47 


'Tmninion  to  maxrj  should  be  the  reward  held  in  s'^ht  of  its 
jronth  during  the  entire  latter  put  of  the  course  of  their  educa> 
tion;  and  it  should  be  granted  as  the  national  attestation  that  Uie 
first  portion  of  their  lives  had  been  rightfully  fulfilled.  It  should 
not  be  attainable  without  earnest  and  consistent  ^fort,  though  put 
within  the  reach  of  all  who  were  willing  to  make  such  effort;  and 
tb*  mating  of  it  should  be  a  public  testimony  to  the  fact,  that  tibt 
youu  or  maid  to  whom  it  was  siven  had  lived  within  their  proper 

Shere,  a  modest  and  virtaoua  fife,  and  had  attained  snch  sKill  in 
eir  proper  handicraft,  and  in  arts  of  household  economy,  as  might 
give  well-founded  expectations  of  their  being  able  honorably  to 
maintain  and  teach  their  children."* 

This  would  be  paternal  government  indeed ;  while  it  would  swing 
the  pendulum  of  state  action  to  one  extreme,  society  is  prone  to 
iwing  it  to  the  c^bm.  The  government  which  leaves  the  legal  statu 
of  marriage  uncertain,  confused,  and  without  uniformity  of  proc> 
€88 — a  marriage  being  legal  in  one  state  which  is  illegal  in  another— 
providing  no  safeguards  against  fraud— opening  wide  the  door  to 
any  sudden  freak  of  romance  or  passion — will  be  certain  of  much 
domestic  strife  and  unrest,  destroying  family  life  and  social  peace, 
and  making  provision  for  a  crowded  docket  in  the  divorce  court 

It  is  difficult  to  name  the  place  that  Ruskin  held  in  the  political 
faiths  of  the  world.  As  we  have  seen  he,  at  one  time,  called  himself 
''a  Tory  of  the  old  school"  at  another  time,  he  said,  he  was  "a  Com- 
munist of  the  old  school;"  and  then,  at  still  another  time,  he  ac- 
knowledged  himself  a  Socialist.  He  was  something  of  them  all, 
and  yet  he  was  not  any  one  of  them.  He  believed  in  government, 
property  and  church,  but  he  did  not  believe  in  their  assumed  func* 
tions,  as  he  saw  them  in  operation.  His  view  of  government  was 
that  its  diief  business  consisted  in  providing  education,  hooaing  of 
the  working  people,  helping  the  unemployed,  caring  for  the  poor, 
providing  for  the  aged,  recovering  of  waste  land,  etc.  Capital  he 
held  to  be  the  means  of  productive  labor  and,  as  soch,  should  be  in 
the  hands  c'  vemment;  money  should  be  free:  ihet  is  without 
"legal  interest,  and  private  property  should  be  restricted  to  the  Uio 
of  its  possessors;  the  massing  great  fmtunes  would,  in  these  drcum- 
stances,  be  valueless.  In  short,  his  advocacy  of  old-world  govern* 
ment  was  based  iqton  its  defence  of  national  in.  .rests  and  its  pater- 
nal provision  for  all  the  people.  On  the  other  hand,  as  we  have 
seen,  h«  denied  equality  and  spumed  the  democratic  idea  of  liber^. 


4$ 


THE  RELIGION  m  RVSKIN 


ST.  QSBOBGWB  GUILD. 

Raskin  was  a  theorist,  but  he  coaM  mvw  bear  to  eM^  at  thoorj. 
Possessed  of  money,  will,  and  his  rare  talent  for  work,  he  was  al- 
ways ready  to  put  hid  theories  into  practice  and  never  happy  until 
he,  at  least,  tritd  to  do  so.  He  had  dreams  ot  a  toeU  XMfnt,  aid 
ho  spent  his  tni  ntt;  and  his  fortune  in  attemptir.  its  rcu.izatieo. 
He  gave  $25,000  to  endow  a  profer'>r8hip  of  drawing;  he  start.  !  a 
relation  in  business  with  |7S,060.  'even  years  after  his  father "s 
death  he  had  given  away  half  hb  fortune  and  in  short  time  be 
had,  in  like  mannw,  diqweed  )f  if.  all.  Thirty-fiv  thousand  dol- 
lars of  it  went  iaio  his  giant  project  of  St.  Georg  j's  GuiU.  For 
several  yean  ha  diUgenUy  and  the  pages  of  his  monthly  letter— 
Fora  Clavigera -to  advoca:  >  and  t  forth  the  aims  and  plana  of  the 
new  society.  Three  essential  material  things  were  to  be  aimed  at: 
pore  air,  water  and  earth-  tnd  t!u»e  easential  immaterial  things 
to  accompany  them:  admira  un,  hope,  Ime.  This  scheme  was  ridl 
in  ideas.  It  was  based  on  tlie  thn  main  ropo  tions  of  Ruakin's 
philosophy,  viz:  (A)  That  there  could  be  no  civilization  v-ithout 
practical  rriigion;  (B)  Ka  prasperfty  apart  from  labor  on  tlw  mil; 
and  (C)  No  happiness  withou-  honesty  and  tn.th. 

Probably  no  experiment  of  (Joramunij^M  has  ever  been  floatpd 
with  so  mnch  of  careful  thought  and  sel  "  sacrificing  labor  as  the 
St.  George's  Guild.  The  object*  of  the  society  according  to  Ruskin 
himself  were:  "to  buy  land  in  Enj^land:  and  thereon  to  train  int 
the  healthiest  and  most  refint  1  life  possible,  as  many  Et  '■  no 
Englishwomen  and  English  ditWren,  as  the  land  wo         s  an 
maintain  in  comfort;  to  estahlish,  for  them  and  fheir  der  .da 
a  national  store  of  continually  aue^mont'     wealth,     d  t  la 
the  goverment  of  the  persons,  and  admiiiistration  of  the  p  j^itriies, 
under  laws  which  shall  be  just  to  dl,       secoxe  in  their  inviolable 
foundation  on  the  Law  of  God." 

Initiation  into  the  fellowship  of  the  society  was  sim  .i  nd  yet 
as  binding  and  solemn,  as  the  oath  of  a  aeeret  society.  It  as  re- 
quired of  the  members  that  the  folln  wing  "creed  and  weo  iti<m'* 
must  be  written  with  their  own  hand  and  sigaad  wi4b  ^  ^em- 
nity  of  a  vow : 


TBg  Un  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  49 

Mi  «(  on  mmm  Mi  emttow  fMblo  ife^  lavMble. 

I  tnat  to  Mm  kMMM  of  His  taw,  and  tko  yMnlniaa  of  Hia  work. 

Mat  '  wmm^  to  lovo  Hln,  Md  kaop  »■  tow  m4  aao  Hio  work,  whllo 

IL  I      .t  in  tho  mMoum  of  bamaD  natnra,  la  tht  maiMty  of  its  faenlUta. 

tt.  i,K„e»«  of  lu  mercy,  and  tb«  Joy  «(  Iti  lovo.  »-™«u.^ 
And  I  will  strive  to  lovo  agr  adghb«r  u  ajnwtt.  Md,  ttm  whM  I  Maaot: 

will  ai    a»  t  I  did.  * 

I«r.   I  «,i    „iH,     with  such  stronitth  and  opportualty  aa  God  iItoo  mo,  for 
myou    dan     read  -U  that  my  hand  finda  to  do,  1  wUI  i»  ihS 

■  will  not  d^c    %  01    iuae  to  be  decelTed.  any  hnman  belnc  for  my  nla 
p  ea-ure  urt  or  cauae  to  be  hurt,  any  hum.,n  being  for  my  caia 

p,^*  J  "         ^  »«>y        ,  bein«  for  my  gaia 

b«»otlf8l  tr        ba-  .trivr    o  gave  aud  comfor,  all  foatkTu^  tad 

"*  "«l  '      it.v.  upon  the  i-anli. 

^   ^  ■  •'""y  '"'<'  higher  powers  of 

MPPiaaaa ,    .ot  in  rn    -hip  or  contention  with  others,  but  for 
P,  dcfight,  aad  hoaoar  ol  odior^  aad  fbr  tbo  Joy  and  peaet  of  my 

^    ^        ^  1" J"*..''*"  count.7  faithfuli     and  the  orders  of  Its 

^apcft,  and  of  all  peraons  appointed  to  be  in  authority  under  its  moa- 
^  ao  far  as  "<>;^l«ws  or  eommaada  are  oonslsteat  with  what  I  suppose 
-  'he  law  of  Gods  aad  wboB  thoy  ai»  not.  or  se^m  in  anywise  to 

"n      i  ""'^'^fSIS  "•I"  dtllbeiatelj   not  with  BMlichN^ 

onrealed.  or  disorderly  ?iolenee.  "wuiawia, 

▼III.      nd  with  the  same  faithfulness,  and  ander  the  of  the  same  obedi- 

nee  wh.ch  I  rendPr  to  the  taws  of  my  countir  the  commanda  of  itt 
'l-'s.  I  w  !  obey  the  laws  of  the  Society  called  Owrg^lnto  mh^ 

A  f'  J^''-'-'^  ■•  and  the  onlers  of  iu  ma  Tof  all  penona 
^po.  "d  to  be  In  authority  under  ita  mutera.  «.  «  I  i^in  ^ 
::ompaaien.  called  «f  8t  Gwm.  «•        "I  iWMla  a 

lancial  operations  were  to  "consist  in  the  accumulation  of 
na.  wealth  and  store,  aud  therefore  in  distribution  to  the  poor. 
'    ead  of  taxation  of  them;  and  the  fathers  will  provide  for,^i 
ibly  endow,  not  steal  from  their  children  and  children's  children." 

•  '"^i^  most  simply  measurable  part  of  the  store  of  food  and  cloth- 
ing will  be  the  basis  of  the  r  irrency,  which  will  be  thus  constituted. 
I  he  standard  of  value  w..  1  i.e  a  given  weight  or  measure  of  grain, 
e,  wool,  silk,  flax,  wood  and  marble— all  answered  for  by  the 
rowTrJJite  "  "  ""^        quality,  variable  only  within  nar- 

"With  great  patience  and  zeal  Ruskin  labored,  as  one  inspired 
of  a  mighty  mission,  to  present  to  the  world  an  object  lesson  of  a 
true  and  bi  ik  ficent  brotherhood.  SometioMs  his  hopes  were  chilled 
by  the  indifference  and  qyposition  <tf  personal  friends  on  whose 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


co-operation  he  hod  counted.  At  other  times  he  received  unlocked 
for  support  from  strangers.  All  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  move- 
ment,  and  all  its  financial  transactions  were  reported  with  singular 
candor,  and  Ruskin's  delightfully  poetic  diction  made  the  reading 
of  them  charming  as  a  romance,  as  they  ran  through  the  letters 
of  Fon. 

The  movement  took  some  material  form  in  the  purchase  of  a 
farm,  which,  however,  proved  a  failure,  as  the  Communists  knew 
nothing  of  fanning.  A  cottage  was  secured  at  WaUdey,  Yorkshire, 
where  a  museum  was  started.  Then  at  Sheffield,  a  more  enduring 
museum  was  founded,  the  object  of  which  was  to  collect  and  pre- 
■erre  specimens  of  human  work  of  the  very  best.  To  these  Ruskin 
added  numerous  works  of  art,  out  of  his  own  collection,  or  purchased 
from  his  purse.  Many  other  projects  were  started,  but  this  museum 
is  all  that  is  left  to  human  sight  as  the  diz«ct  zeiolt  of  these  yean 
of  self-sacrificing  philanthropic  endeavor.* 

The  weakness  of  it  all  was,  that  from  the  beginning  to  the  end, 
the  schone  lacked  systematic  form.  It  was  full  of  brilliant  ideas 
such  as  could  only  have  come  from  one  who  was  both  a  philosopher 
and  a  dreamer.  But,  as  Mr.  Harrison  remarks:  "It  will  long  live  as 
the  pathetic  dream  of  a  beautiful  but  lonely  spirit  to  flee  from  the 
wrath  that  is,  and  to  find  salvation  in  a  purer  world." 

Happily  the  immortality  of  great  souls  does  not  rest  upon  the 
success  or  failure  of  material  agencies,  or  social  sdiemes. 

As  a  lecturer  Ruskin  was  learned  and  profound,  but  he  was  no 
"Dry-at-dxuU"  Every  class  of  people  delighted  to  hear  him. 
Whether  he  spoke  to  university  scholars,  to  workingmen,  to  young 
girls,  or  little  children — all  were  equally  charmed  by  him. 

His  lecture  room  at  Oxford  in  1870,  when,  as  "Slade  Professor" 
he  taught  at  the  university,  was  alwa3rs  crowded  with  members,  old 
and  young,  and  their  friends,  "who  flocked  to  hear  and  see  him," 
Mr.  CoUingwood  gives  a  description  of  his  manner  of  delivery  at 
this  time.  "He  used  to  begin  by  reading,  in  his  curious  intonatiim, 
the  carefully  written  passages  of  rhetoric,  which  usually  occupied 
only  about  half  of  his  hour.   By  and  by  he  would  break  off,  and 

*We  do  not  mean  to  my  that  there  are  now  no  aocietles  bearing  the  magic 
name  of  Ruakin  and  aeeking,  in  one  way  or  another,  to  oarrjr  hia  ideaa  into  aSaet. 
laeh  Inatitutiooa  bava  bean  organiaad  la  mxaj  puta  of  tte  Uaitad  ■ttiM  ud 
Ortat  Briuia.  S««  ^pyantfte  la  Mi;  Botaoa'a  hook:  "Jakm  Aufttai  Bttttt 
Hifimiai." 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


with  quite  another  air  extemporise  the  liveliest  interpolations,  do- 
scribing  his  diagrams  and  specimens,  restating  his  argomenti^  xe- 
enforoing  his  vppeal.  His  vdea  became  dramsti&  He  used  to  mI 
his  subject,  apparently  without  premeditated  art,  in  the  liveliest 
pantomime.  .  .  .  He  gave  himself  over  to  his  subject  with  such 
unreserved  intensity  of  imaginative  power,  he  felt  so  vividly  and 
spoke  so  from  the  heart,  that  he  became  whatever  he  talked  about, 
never  heeding  his  professional  dignity,  and  never  doubting  the  sym- 
pathy of  his  audience.  Lecturing  on  birds,  he  strutted  like  fha 
chough,  made  himself  wings  like  the  swallow;  he  was  for  the  mo- 
ment like  a  cat,  in  explaining  that  engraving  was  the  art  of  scratch- 
ing. ...  It  was  so  evidently  the  expression  of  his  intense  eager* 
ness  for  his  subject,  so  palpably  true  to  his  purpose,  and  he  so  carried 
his  hearers  with  him,  that  one  saw  in  the  grotesque  of  the  perform- 
ance only  the  guarantee  of  sincoity.  If  one  wanted  more  proof  of 
that,  there  was  his  face,  still  young-looking  and  beardless,  made  for 
expr.  'flion,  and  sensitive  to  every  change  of  emotion.  A  long  head, 
with  enormous  capacity  of  brain,  veiled  by  thick  wavy  hair,  not 
affectedly  lengthy,  but  as  abundant  as  ever;  and  darkened  into  * 
deep  brown,  without  a  trace  of  grey,  and  short,  light  whidcea  grav- 
ing high  over  his  cheeks.*" 

His  work  at  the  lecture  room  was  incredibly  great.  Men  star 
tistics  of  his  lectures  would  give  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  amount  of 
study  and  preparation  involved.  But  the  following  list  of  subjecta 
treated,  together  with  the  year  of  their  first  delivery,  will  serve  in 
some  measure  to  show  the  sweep  of  his  mental  occupation  in  this 
branch  of  work.  The  published  works  in  which  the  lectures  may  b« 
found,  in  whole  or  in  part,  are  alao  given.  The  list  is  not  offered  m 
complete^  there  are  probably  others  not  recorded. 

1853.  Architecture.   "Stones  of  Venice"  and  "Seven  Lamps." 

1854.  Decorative  Art.  (3  Lectures). 

1857.  Imagination  in  Architecture.  "Th«  Two  Patha." 
1857.   Address  at  School  of  Art. 

1857.  The  Political  Economy  of  Art.  (2)  **▲  Jof  Wemm." 

1857.  Art  Considered  as  Wealth. 

1858.  Relation  of  Art  to  Manufacture. 

1858.  Dotariontiv*  Fowtr  of  OoBTintioBal  Aii  *'Tht  Two 
Pkthi." 


'"Ufa  «(  Jata  BhUb."  m. 


53  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

1858.  Work  of  Iron  in  Nature,  Art  and  Pdicy.  "The  Two 

Paths." 

1858.  Inaugural  Address  at  School  of  Art  for  WoAom. 

1859.  The  Unity  of  Art.  "The  Two  Paths." 

1859.  Modem  Manufacture  and  Design.  "The  Two  Paths/' 

1861.  Tree  Leaves,  Etc.  "Modern  Painters,"  "Proflerpina." 

1862.  Political  Economy.   "Unto  this  Last." 
1864.  Kings'  Treasuries.    "Sesame  and  Lilies." 

1864.  Queens'  Gardens.   "Cesame  and  Lilies." 

1865.  Work  and  Play.— To  Working  Men.  "Crown  of  WM 
Olive." 

1866.  TrafHc— To  Merchants.  "Crown  of  Wild  Olive." 
1865.  War.— At  Royal  Academy.    "Crown  of  Wild  Olive." 
1865.  Study  of  Architecture  in  Schools. 

1867.  National  Ethics  and  National  Art 

1868.  Mystery  of  Life  and  its  Arts.  "Sesame  and  lilies.'^ 

1869.  The  Future  of  England.  "Crown  of  Wild  Olive." 
1869.  Architecture.  "Queen  of  the  Air." 

1869.  Greek  Myths  of  Storm.   "Queen  of  the  Air." 

1870.  Greek  ReUef  Studies— Elements  of  Sculpture  (6).  "Arar 
tra  Pentelici." 

1870.  Education  and  Aims  of  Life. 

1871.  Landscape,  (3).  "Modem  Painters,'*  Vol.  3. 

1872.  Mythology— The  Bird  of  Calm. 

1872.  Natural  Science  and  Art  (Unhcfritj  Leetnies,  10). 
"Eagles  Nest." 

1872.  Engraving.  (A  Course)  "Ariadne  Flocentina.'' 

1873.  Nature  and  Authority  of  Miracle. 

1873.  Greek  and  English  Birds.  (3  Lectures)  "Love's  Meinie." 
1878.  Early  Tuscan  Art.  (10  Lectures)  "Val  lyAmo." 
1873-74.   Five  Courses  of  Lectures  Reviewing  and  Reconstruct^ 

ing  all  his  Study  and  Treatment  of  Art.  "Modem  Painters." 

1874.  Alpine  Porms.  (Course  of  Poor). 

1874.  Course  of  Eight  on  Schools  of  Fknom. 

1875.  Glacial  Actions  in  the  Alps. 

1876.  Natural  Selection. 

1875.  "Reynolds."    (12  Lectures.) 

1876.  Precious  Stones.  "Deucalion." 
1876.  Iris  of  the  Earth.  "Deucalion." 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RVSKIN  53 

1877.   The  Yewdale  and  it  Streamlets.   "Deucalion."   Part  a. 

1877.   Readings  in  Modem  Painters.    (12  Lectures.) 

1880.   Amiens.    (12  Lectures.)    "Bible  in  Amiens." 

1883.  Recent  English  Art  Course  at  Qzfoid  on  B^leetion  aa 
Blade  Professor.  "The  Art  of  England." 

1883.   Lecture  at  London.    (Subject  not  given.) 

1883.  The  Pleasures  of  Learning  Faith,  Deed  (3.)  "Fkaaons 
of  En^and." 

1883.  Lecture  at  Coniston.    (Subject  not  given.) 

1884.  During  this  year  Ruskin  gave  fourteen  lectures,  covering 
the  same  ground  as  many  of  the  previous  ones,  and  on  Dec.  lat  he 
closed  his  work  as  a  lecturer. 

We  look  in  vain  through  all  the  long  period  of  this  work  for  any 
evidence  of  departure  from  the  foundation  principles  vhich  he  had 
so  early  inculcated  by  his  study  of  the  Bible  under  his  mother's  ean 
and  direction.  Certain  interpretations,  forms,  creeds  and  doctrines 
he  rejected;  and  flung  them  away  with  that  passionate  scorn  with 
which  he  regarded  everything  that  aavored  of  untruth  m  dm.  But 
the  Eternal  Verities  were  as  unquestioned  as  the  Stars  of  the 
Heavens,  and  these  inspired  him  and  remained  his  imperiahaUe, 
inunoKtel  pnnwioiu. 


VI 


IHE  RELIGIOUS  MIND  OF  RUSEIN. 

"Be  foaght  hia  donbts  and  gatber'd  atrmctli. 

He  would  not  make  his  judgment  blind ; 

Be  faced  the  spectres  of  the  mind 
And  laid  them :  thus  be  came  at  length 
To  find  a  stronger  faith  his  own ; 

And  Power  was  with  him  in  the  nigbt. 

Which  makes  the  darUness  and  the  Ught 
And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone." 

— 7V««i/«oh;  "In  ilcmoriam." 

"There  li  need,  bitter  need  to  bring  back  into  men's  minds,  that  to  live  Is  noth- 
ing, unleM  to  live  be  io  know  Uim  by  whom  we  live." — Modem  Ptimten,  Vol.  II, 
Sec.  1. 

The  religion  of  Ruskin  was  nurtured  in  soil  which  might  have 
produced  a  mere  formal,  ceremonial,  service  and  worship.  The  creed 
of  his  home  was  puritanic  and  calvinistic, — the  doctrines  were  those 
of  the  State  Episcopal  church,  which,  not  only  taught,  but  deter- 
mined and  dictated,  both  the  form  and  subject  of  prayers  and  daily 
worship.  The  eloquently  worded  petition.^  of  the  prayer-book  were 
recited  with  peculiar  intonations  which  the  clergy  adopted,  and  the 
forms,  and  ceremonies,  and  processions,  sometimes  came  very  near 
xivaling  the  splendor  and  pomp  of  the  Romish  church. 

In  such  an  atmosphere  certain  souls  remained  really  and  deeply 
religious :  men  and  women,  to  whom  the  ceremonial  was  impressive 
and  typical,  and  every  collect  in  the  prayer-book  a  prayer  which 
lifted  their  hearts  up  toward  God.  But  to  Ruakin  these  were 
not  inspiring,  because  they  were,  very  frequently,  unaccompanied 
with  consistency  of  life  and  character,  in  priest  and  people,  and  also 
because  they  were  used  to  convey  narrow  conceptions  of  truth. 

Ruskin'a  leUgion  had  not  a  vestige  of  sham  or  pretence  in  ik 
It  had  to  be  real  or  nothing.  His  perfect  love  of  truth  made  any 
shadow  of  turning  from  moral  consistency  repulsive  to  him.  The 
evangelists  of  his  time  were  the  "Uteralists"  and  these  he  constantly 
chided,  in  his  vigorous  way,  for  inconsistency. 

"Read  your  Bibles,"  he  wrote  in  1874,  "honestly  and  utterly,  my 
ioni{mlous  trends,  and  stand  by  the  ocmsequences, — ^if  you  hav* 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


SS 


what  true  mm  call  'faith.' ....  nmember  that  the  Son  of  Man  ia 
Lord  of  the  Sabbath,  and  that  not  onlv  it  is  lawful  to  do  good  upon 

it,  but  unlawful,  in  the  strength  of  wbcrt  you  call  keeping  one  mf 
holy,  to  do  evil  on  other  six  days,  and  make  those  unholy.'" 

Mr.  CoUingwood,  writing  of  Ruakin,  as  he  was  m  1845,  says:— • 
"He  was  deeply  religious,  and  found  the  echo  of  his  thoughts  in 
George  Herbert,  with  whom  he  communed  in  spirit  while  he  trav- 
elled through  the  Alps.  But  the  forms  of  outward  religion  were  Ios« 
ing  their  hold  over  him  in  proportion  as  his  inward  religion  became 
more  real  and  intense.  It  was  only  a  few  days  after  writing  these 
line^  that  :  e  broke  the  Sabbath  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  by 
climbing  a  hill  after  church.  That  was  the  first  diot  in  «  war,  in 
one  of  the  strangest  and  saddest  wars  between  conscience  and  reason 
that  biography  records :  strange,  because  the  opposing  forces  were  so 
nearly  matched ;  and  sad,  because  the  struggle  lasted  until  their  field 
of  battle  was  desolated  before  either  won  a  victory.  Thirty  years 
later,  the  cleverest  of  his  Oxford  hearers  drew  his  portrait  under  the 
name  of  the  man  whose  sacred  verse  was  his  guide  and  mainstay  in 
this  youthful  pilgrim's  progress,  and  the  words  put  into  his  mouth 
summed  up  with  merciless  insight  the  issue  of  those  conflicts.  'For 
1 1  Who  am  I  that  speak  to  you?  Am  I  a  believer?  No.  I  am  « 
doubter  too.  Once  I  could  pray  every  morning,  and  go  forth  to  my 
day's  labor  stayed  and  comforted.  But  now  I  can  pray  no  longer. 
You  have  taken  my  God  away  from  m«,  and  I  know  not  where  yoa 
have  laid  him.' 

Ruskin's  references  to  Herbert,  mentioned  here  by  Gollingwood, 
may  be  found  in  Book  VI.  of  this  volume.  The  change  which  had 
been  going  on,  in  Ruskin's  mind,  culminated  in  1858,  when  he  was 
about  40  years  old.  This  was  not  only  a  change  of  view, — but  a  re> 
volt:  a  tearing  up  of  his  entire  religious  faith  by  the  roots.  It  mack 
so  deep  an  impression  upon  him  that  it  formed  the  subject  of  corre- 
spondence with  his  friends*  and  resulted  in  announcements  dis- 
crediting what  he  had  written  of  religion  in  his  earlier  days.  Twenty 
years  later  he  gave  an  account  of  an  incident  which  provoked  him  to 
declare  tho  change"  and  ten  years  later  still,*  he  related  the 

»  "FoM,"  Letter  40. 

•"Why  steiid  r*  all  th«  diV  Mte."  (Im  Boak  TL) 

•"Life  of  John  Rndtla." 

*  See  Letters  to  Chu,  Uiot  Morton. 

»  "Fors,"  Letter  73. 
•Pmterite  III:  1. 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


incident,  somewhat  differently,  although  substantially  the  same. 
The  story  is  of  his  going  to  a  little  Waldensian  chapel  in  Turin, 
where  a  congregation,  numbering  in  all  some  three  or  four  and 
twenty,  of  whom  fifteen  or  sixteen  were  gray  haired  women.  "Their 

solitary  and  clerkless  preacher,  a  somewhat  stunted  figure  in  a 
plain  black  coat,  with  a  cracked  voice,  after  leading  them  through 
tlie  languid  form  of  prayer  . .  .put  his  utmost  zeal  into  a  consolatory 
discourse  on  the  wickedness  of  the  wide  world,  more  especially  of 
the  plains  of  Piedmont  and  city  of  Turin,  and  on  the  exclusive 
favor  with  God,  enjoyed  by  the  between  nineteen  and  twenty-four 
elect  members  of  his  congregation.  Myself  neither  cheered  nor 
greatly  alarmed  by  this  doctrine,  I  walked  back  into  the  condemned 
city,  and  up  into  the  gallery  where  Paul  Veronese's  Solomon  and 
the  Queen  of  Sheba  glowed  in  full  afternoon  light.  The  gallery 
windows  being  opened,  there  came  in  with  the  warm  air,  floating 
swells  and  falls  of  military  music  which  seemed  to  me  more  devo- 
tional, in  their  perfect  art,  tune,  and  discipline,  than  anything  I 
remembered  of  evangelical  hymns.  And  as  the  perfect  color  and 
sound  gradually  asserted  their  power  on  me,  they  seemed  finally  to 
fasten  me  in  the  old  Jewish  faith,  that  things  done  delightfully  and 
rightly,  were  always  done  by  the  help  and  '  he  spirit  of  God.  Of 
course  that  hour's  meditation  in  the  gallery  of  Turin  only  con- 
cluded the  courses  of  thought  which  had  been  leading  me  to  such 
end  through  many  years.  .  .  .  That  day,  my  evaiigelical  beliefs 
were  put  away,  to  be  debated  no  more."* 

It  is  probable,  as  Mr.  Norton  believes,  that  Ruskin  "Never  wholly 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  "this  hard,  unsettling  revelation."* 
If  however  the  thought  is  abroad  that  he  remained,  ever  after,  un> 
der  the  black  cloud  of  doubt,  as  to  the  verities  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion, it  becomes  a  pleasure  and  a  duty,  to  set  forth  the  gradual 
change  which  brought  him  again  into  the  full  blaze  of  the  light 
of  scriptural  truth,  although  he  neivw  retomed  to  the  old  forms 
end  expressions  of  creeds. 

Although,  as  we  have  seen,  his  mind  reflected  a  series  of  para- 
doxies,'  yet,  in  character,  Ruskin  was  always  consistent.  At  no 
time  in  bis  life  can  it  be  said  that  there  met  in  him  two  opposite 
streams  of  moral  character.  All  through  his  years  of  doubt  he  pos- 
sessed all  the  cardinal  virtues  in  an  eminent  degree.  He  was  the 
soul  of  honor — ^just,  benevolent,  kind,  generous  and  merciful. 

Thoae  old  expressions  of  creed  were  to  him  so  many  siqwati* 

iPmttrita  ni:  1. 
'Latten  Norton,  p.  IX 
■Ckapter  IV. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


tiona  and  he  flung  them  away  with  such  violence  that  he  was  almost 
Teady  to  accept  the  word  "sceptic"  which  was  thrown  at  him  by 

his  critics. 

What  Henry  VanDyke  says  about  "doubt"  seems  to  find  illus- 
tration m  Radon: — "For  the  most  part  modem  «*  >  bows  a  sad 
and  plMB-dnwn  face,  heavy  with  grief  and  dari  •  li  appreben* 
sion."*  But  ai  Carlyle  said:  "That,  with  supersi  ti<.  religion  is 
also  passing  away,  seems  to  us  an  ungrounded  fear.  Iteligion  can- 
not pass  away.  The  burning  of  a  little  straw  may  hide  the  stars  of 
the  sl^,  but  the  stars  are  there,  and  will  re-appear.  On  the  whole, 
we  arast  repeat  the  often-repeated  saying,  that  it  is  unworthy  a  re- 
ligious man  to  view  an  irreligious  one  either  with  aversion  or  alarm ; 
or  witib  any  other  feeling  than  regret,  and  hope  and  brotherly 
commiseration.  If  he  seek  truth  is  be  not  our  brother,  and  to  be 
pitied?  If  he  do  not  seek  tsoth,  it  he  not  ttill  our  broUier,  and  to 
be  jatied  still  more?"" 

Aad  we  must  remember  that  Ruskin's  change  was  not  alone  to- 
wards theology.  CoUingwood  says: — "Orthodox  religion,  ortho- 
dox ratals  and  politics,  orthodox  art  and  science, — all  alike  he  re- 
jected. And  even  when  kindly  Oxford  gave  him  a  quasi-aoademi- 
<»1  position,  it  did  not  bring  him,  as  it  brings  many  a  heretic,  back 
to  the  field."  Yet,  we  must  repeat,  he  never  departed  fipm  the 
OTthodoxy  of  righteousness  and  scriptural  truth. 

In  1867  Ruskin  delivered  a  lecture  before  a  distinguished  body 
of  scholars,  on  the  occasion  of  his  receiving  the  degree  of  LL^D. 
In  reporting  that  lecture  the  Cambridge  Chronicle  says: 

"On  the  younger  men  he  urged  the  infinite  importance  of  a  life 
of  virtue  and  the  fact  that  the  hereafter  must  be  spent  in  God's 
presence  or  in  darkness.  Their  time  in  this  miracle  of  a  universs 
waa  but  as  a  moment ;  with  one  brief  astounded  gaze  of  awe  they 
looked  on  all  around  them — saw  the  planets  roll,  heard  the  sound 
of  the  sea,  and  beheld  the  surroundings  of  the  earth;  they  were 
opened  for  a  moment  as  a  sheet  of  lichtning,  and  then  instantly 
closed  again.  Their  highe.«t  ambition  during  #o  short  a  stay  should 
be  to  be  known  for  what  they  were — to  spend  those  glittering  days 
in  view  of  what  was  to  come  after  them.  Then,  to  the  masters  of 
this  school  of  science,  he  urged  that  their  continued  prosperity 
must  rest  on  their  observance  of  the  coramand  (tf  their  Divine  BIm- 
ter,  in  whoee  neae  tbey  existed  M  a  aod%.  ^EMije  first  tiie  king- 

i"The  Ooape:  for  an  Age  of  DonM." 
'"Voltain."  Br  Hmww  Guriyte. 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 


dona  of  God  and  HIb  righteousness'  .  All  mere  knowledge 
iiidq>«ident  of  its  tendency  to  a  holy  life  was  oaeleaa." 

Not  much  of  religious  heterodoxy  here,— eilher  in  letter  or  spirit. 
Truly  this  man  held  the  Bible  in  profound  esteem.  He  rever> 
•need  Ha  teachings  and  quoted  it  constantly  as  an  authority  from 
which  there  is  no  appeal.  It  mattered  not  what  was  the  subject 
before  him:  whether  he  wrote  a  volume  of  criticism, — a  poem  to 
a  young  lady, — a  letter  to  workmg  men,— or  gave  a  lecture  to  a 
dm  of  students,  the  religious  spirit  pervaded  all  he  said.  God  was 
lecognised  in  nature  and  in  art;  in  the  affairs  of  men  in  personal 
conduct  and  in  general  government 

To  young  girls  he  said:— "The  sin  of  the  whole  world  is  the  sin  of 
Judas.  Men  do  not  disbelieve  their  Christ  but  they  sell  Him."  Ho 
is  talking  to  university  studenta  at  Oxford  when  he  says: — ^"In 
these  days  you  have  to  guard  against  the  fatalest  darknen  of  the 
two  opposite  prides:  the  pride  of  faith,  which  imagines  that  the 
nature  of  the  Deity  can  be  explained  by  its  convictions:  and  the 
pride  of  science,  which  imagines  that  the  energy  of  the  Deity  can 
be  explained  by  its  analysis."  * 

If  we  study  Ruskin  for  art  or  arehiteetnie  we  may  lean,  at  leol^ 
as  much  of  moral  and  religious  truth;  we  can  hardly  pass  an  hour 
with  him,  in  any  phase  of  his  work,  without  finding  some  biblical 
exposition  which  brings  us  new  light 

Nor  is  it  difficult  to  find  his  own  testimony  of  his  religious  ex- 
perience. Indeed,  his  introspection  seems  to  have  been  keen  and 
sometimes  severe.  He  would  probably  have  given  some  trouble  to 
a  Methodist  class  leader,  but  the  telling  of  his  religious  ezperienoe 
always  bear  the  mark  of  strict  and  honest  scrutiny. 

Generous  to  all  and  always  catholic  in  spirit,  he  knew  no  sectar- 
ian boundary  line  to  hold  him  back  from  good  men,  of  whatever 
religious  faith.  Any  one  who  rea;  his  criticisms  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  would  never  suspect  him  of  a  leaning  in  that  di- 
rection. Yet,  at  Coniston,  he  esteemed  the  work  of  a  priest  of  that 
church  so  highly  that  he  contributed  a  window  to  his  chcpel.  He 
enjoyed  the  personal  friendship  of  that  remarkable  man.  Cardinal 
Manning,  ac.cpting  occasional  invitations  to  his  mansion,  to  quiet 
lunches,  and  a  report  grew  out  of  these  things  that  he  was  "going 
over  to  the  Cathdie  Canizdi."  He  promptly  set  that  right,  how- 

a^riiaBelfttloaot  ArttoBcUfini.''  Set  BocA  IL 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 


59 


«ver,  in  this  fashion, — writing  to  «  friend  at  Glasgow: — "I  shall 
be  mtirely  grateful  to  yoa  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  contradict 
any  news  of  this  kind,  which  may  be  disturbing  the  minds  of  my 
Scottish  friends.  I  was,  am,  and  can  be,  only  a  Christian  Catholic 
in  the  wide  and  eternal  sense.  I  have  been  that  these  five-and- 
twenty  years  at  least.  Heaven  keep  me  from  being  less  as  I  grow 
older  1"  A  year  later  he  wrote,  "I  fear  you  have  scarcely  read 
enough  of  Tors'*  to  know  the  breadth  of  my  own  creed  or  com- 
munion. I  gladly  take  the  bread,  water,  wine,  or  meat,  of  the 
Lord's  Supper  aad  should  be  v.qually  sure  it  was  Hb  giving,  if  I 
were  myself  worthy  to  receive  it,  whether  the  immediate  mortal 
hand  were  the  Pope's,  the  Queen's,  or  a  hedgewiide  gipsy's." 

A  still  closer  view  of  his  returning  faith  is  revealed  in  an  address 
which  he  gave  to  315  young  people  of  Coniston,  in  the  year  1881. 
He  dwelt  on  a  verse  of  the  Sunday  School  hymn  they  had  been 
singing:  "Jesus,  here  from  sin  deliver."  "That  is  what  we  want," 
he  said,  "to  be  delivered  from  our  sins.  "We  must  look  to  the  Sav- 
iour to  deliver  us  from  our  sin.  It  is  right  we  should  be  punished 
for  the  sins  which  we  have  done;  but  God  loves  us,  and  wishes  to 
be  kind  to  us,  and  to  help  us,  that  we  may  not  wilfully  sin  1"  Such 
words  from  a  man  of  Ruskin's  character  must  be  taken  as  •  elear 
indication  of  his  religious  mind. 

In  1886  he  wrote  to  a  lady  at  Coniston : — "How  can  you  ever  be 
sad,  looking  forward  to  eternal  life  with  all  whom  you  love,  and 
God  over  all.  It  is  only  so  far  as  I  lose  hold  of  that  hope,  that  any- 
thing is  ever  a  trial  to  me."* 

That  there  were  cloud  days,  and  even  yean,  of  religious  shadow 
for  Ruskin  is  a  fact  that  has  perhaps  been  over-stated.  But  the  rever- 
ent spirit  and  devout  attitude  of  bis  mind  towards  God,  and  all 
things  divine,  is  always  present  in  all  his  works.  With  him  the 
fundamental  truths  of  the  Christian  religion  were  never  subjects 
of  dispute.  Judging  by  a  close  study  of  his  works,  we  should  say 
that  he  rarely  ever  wrote  or  spoke  on  any  subject,  but  the  truth 
and  word  of  God  were  present  in  his  mind  as  an  mfluence  and 

*1f*uitiBM^  dm't  be  afraid  tbat  I  am  going  to  beeoim  a  Roman  Catholic,  or 
that  I  am  one,  in  diagulie.  I  can  no  more  become  «  iZomoii-Catholic,  than  again 
an  ETangelical-Protestant.  I  am  a  'Catholic'  of  those  Catholica,  to  whom  the 
Catholic  Epistle  of  8t.  Jamca  la  addrcaaad— the  Twelve  Trihca  which  an  aea^ 

ten>d  abroad' —  the  literally  or  ^ritoallj  wandering  larari  of  all  the  Earth." — 
-Fori."  Letter  76. 
*"Uortu»  /NciMts." 


6o 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


a  memory.  While  he  did  not  regard  all  parts  of  the  Bible  as  of 
equal  authority,  he  never  foiled  to  recognise  it  as  the  Supreme 

b«jok.  Other  books  were  quoted: — poets  were  esteemed  and  lov«d» 
but  the  Scriptures  were  reverenced  and  cited  aa  final. 

In  1873  he  wrote: — "You  will  find,  alike  thron^out  the  record 
of  the  law  and  the  promises  of  the  gospel,  that  there  is,  indeed, 
forgiveness  with  God,  and  Christ,  for  the  paaaing  sins  of  the  hot 
heart,  but  none  for  the  eternal  and  inherent  sins  of  the  cold. 
'IJlcysed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy;'  find  it  you 
written  anywhere  that  the  unmerciful  shall?  'Her  sins,  which  are 
many,  are  forgiven,  for  she  loved  much.'  But  have  yoa  record 
of  any  one's  sins  being  forgiven  who  loved  not  at  all?  ...  At  my 
present  age  of  fifty-five,  in  spite  of  some  enlarged  observations  CNf 
what  modem  philosophers  call  the  reign  of  kw,  I  perceive  more 
distinctly  than  ever  the  reign  of  a  spirit  of  mercy  and  truth, — 
infinite  in  pardon  and  purification  for  its  wandering  and  faultful 
children,  who  have  yet  love  in  their  hearts."* 

And,  at  sixty-six,  he  repeated  much  that  he  aaid  of  his  early 
Bible  instruction  and  added  this: — "It  is  strange  that  of  all  the 
pieces  that  my  mother  thus  taught  me,  that  which  cost  me  mosi 
to  learn,  and  which  was  to  my  child's  mind,  chiefly  repulsive— 
the  119th  Psalm — has  now  become  of  all  the  most  precious  to  me, 
in  its  overflowing  and  glorious  passion  of  love  for  the  kw  of  God, 
in  opposition  to  the  abuse  of  it  by  modem  preachea  of  whl^  they 
imagine  to  be  His  gospel.'" 

And  once  again,  in  the  same  book,  he  says  of  this  early  period,— 
"Knowing  the  Song  of  Moses  and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  by 
heart  and  half  the  Apocalypse  besides,  I  was  in  no  need  of  tutor- 
ship either  in  the  majesty  or  simplicity  of  English  words." 

A  little  later,  he  wrote  in  "The  Bible  of  Amiens,"  "It  was  from 
the  Bible  that  I  leamed  the  symbols  of  Homer  and  the  faith  of 
Horace :  the  duty  enforced  upon  me  in  early  youth  of  reading  every 
word  of  the  gospels  and  prophecies,  as  if  written  hf  the  hend  cnT 
God,  gave  me  the  habit  of  awed  attention." 

Between  these  two  dates,  (viz.:  1873-1877)  be  wvM  of  the  shad- 
ows, of  which  we  have  spoken,  thus: — 

"What  is  there  left?"  Yoa  will  find  what  was  kft,  as,  in  mnoh 

1  "Fort."  Letter  42. 
'Preterit*.  Ckmp.  II. 


THE  UfB  OF  JOHN  RVSKIN  6t 

darkneas  and  sorrow  of  heart  I  ntbered  it,  variously  taughi  .1  my 
booka,  written  between  1858  and  1874.   It  is  all  sound  and  good 
as  far  as  it  goes:  whereas  all  that  went  before  was  so  mixed  with 

frotestant  egotism  and  insolence,  that,  as  you  have  probably  bttad 
won't  republish,  in  their  first  form,  any  of  those  former  books! 
Thus  then  it  went  with  me  till  1874,  when  I  had  lived  sixteen 
llill  years  with  'the  religion  of  humanity,'  for  rough  and  stronir 
and  sure  fouudaliou  of  everything.'" 

Two  years  later,  1879,  he  wrote  his  "Letters  to  the  Clergy,"  which 
made  a  tremendous  stir  among  the  clergy  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. These  letters  were  edited  and  published  by  the  Rev.  F.  Mal- 
leson,  a  distinguished  clergyman,  to  whom  they  were  originally  ad- 
dressed as  Secretary  of  a  North  of  England  Qerical  Society.  In 
his  introduction  Mr.  Malleson  says:— The  letters  "originated  aim* 
ply  in  a  proposal  of  mine,  which  met  with  so  ready  a  response 
that  H  aeemed  like  a  simtiltaneous  thought."  Mr.  Malleson's  view 
of  Ruskin's  religious  mind  is  expressed  in  the  following  editorial 
notes:— ."We  have  plenty  elsewhere  of  doctrine  and  dogma,  and 
nndefinaUe  shades  of  theological  opinion.  Let  us  turn  at  lait  to 
practical  questions  presented  for  our  consideration  by  an  eminent 
layman  whose  field  of  work  lies  quite  as  much  in  religion  and  eth- 
ics, as  it  does,  reaching  to  so  splendid  an  eminence,  in  art.  A  man 
is  wanted  to  show  both  clergy  and  laity  aomething  of  the  full  force 
and  meaning  of  Gospel  teachmg.  ...  As  a  whole,  the  standard 
taken  is,  as  I  firmly  believe,  speaking  only  for  myself,  lofty  and 
Christian  to  the  extent  of  an  almost  ideal  perfection."- 

The  reader  must  bear  in  mind  that  this  is  the  expression  of  a 
'clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England  more  than  twenty  years  after 
Ruskin's  revolt,  and  four  or  five  years  after  the  period  of  whieh  he 
writes  as  having  passed  through  "much  ^flrkneM  and  sofiov  of 
heart." 

A  few  extracts  from  these  letters  will  be  of  interest  to  many. 
The  subject  chosen  by  Ruskin  upon  which  to  address  the 
clergy  was  "The  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  Church." 

"My  meaning,  in  saying  that  the  Lord's  Prayer  might  be  made 
a  foundation  of  Gospel-teaching,  was  not  that  it  contained  all  that 
Christian  ministers  have  to  teach,  but  that  it  contains  what  all 
Christians  are  agreed  upon  as  first  to  be  taught;  and  that  no  inod 
parish-working  pastor  m  any  district  of  ttie  world  but  wouldbe 

« "Fori."  Letter  76. 
'"Lttten  t»  tka  Omgr." 


U  THE  RELIOION  OF  HUSKIN 

glad  to  tftke  hu  part  in  making  it  dear  and  living  to  his  congre- 
gation. And  the  lint  dame  of  it,  of  coone  rightly  explained, 
gives  u9  the  ground  of  what  is  surely  a  mighty  part  of  the  Uospel— 
its  first  great  commandment,'  namely,  that  we  have  a  Father 
whom  we  can  love,  and  are  required  to  love,  and  to  desire  to  be 
with  Him  in  Heaven,  wherever  that  may  bo.  And  to  declare  that 
we  have  a  loving  Father,  whose  morcy  is  over  all  His  works,  and 
whose  will  and  law  ia  ao  lovely  and  lovable  that  it  is  sweeter  than 
honey,  and  more  precious  than  gold,  to  those  who  can  'taste'  and 
'see'  that  the  Lord  is  good — this,  sordy,  is  a  OMMit  pleasant  and 
gloriuu:^  good  uic^sage  and  spell  to  bring  to  men." — Letter  V. 

"To  my  layman's  mind,  of  practical  needs  in  the  present  state 
of  the  church,  nothing  is  so  immediate  as  that  of  explaining  to  the 
congregation  the  meaning  of  being  gathered  in  His  name,  and 

having  Him  in  the  midst  of  them." — Letter  VI. 

"Lest,  in  any  discussion  of  such  question,  it  might  be,  as  it  too 
often  is,  alleged  that  'the  Lord  looketh  upon  Uie  heart,'  ate.,  lal  ma 
be  permitted  to  say — with  as  much  positiveness  as  may  aptm  my 
deepest  conviction — that,  while  indmd  it  is  the  Lofd%  business  to 
look  upon  the  heart,  it  is  the  pastor's  to  look  upon  the  hands  and 
the  lips;  and  that  the  foulest  oaths  of  the  thief^ are  in  the  ears  of 
God,  sinless  as  the  hawk's  cry,  or  the  gnat's  murmur,  compared 
to  the  responses  ui  the  church  service,  on  the  lips  of  the  usurer  and 
the  adulterer."— Leftcr  VL 

"I  fancy  that  the  mind  of  the  most  faithful  Christian  is  quka 
led  away  from  its  proper  !  one,  by  dwelling  on  the  reign — or  com- 
ing again — of  Christ,  which,  indeed,  they  are  to  look  for,  and 
watch  for,  but  not  to  pray  for.  Their  prayer  is  to  be  for  the  grenter 
kingdom  to  which  He,  risen  and  having  all  His  enemies  under 
His  feet,  is  to  surrender  Hig,  'that  God  may  be  All  in  All.'  And, 
though  the  greatest,  it  is  that  everlasting  kingdom  which  the  poor- 
est of  us  can  advance.  We  cannot  hasten  Christ's  coming.  'Of  that 
day  and  the  hour,  knoweth  no  man.'  But  the  kingdom  of  God 
is  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed: — we  can  sow  of  it;  it  is  as  a  foam- 
globe  of  leaven: — we  can  mingle  it;  and  its  glory  and  its  joy  are 
that  even  the  birds  <rf  the  air  can  lodge  in  the  teandieB  theieof.'* 
—Letter  VII. 

"In  the  parable  in  Luke,  the  bread  asked  for  is  shown  to  be  also, 
and  chiefly,  the  Holy  Spirit  (Luke  11:13),  and  the  prayer,  'Give 
us  each  day  our  daily  bread'  is,  in  its  fulness,  the  disciples'  'Lord, 
evermore  give  us  this  bread.'  .  .  .  'Children,  have  ye  here  any 
meat?'  must  ultimately  he  always  the  greater  spiritual  one:  'Chil- 
dren, have  ye  here  any  Holy  Spirit?'  or,  'Have  ye  not  heard  yet 
whether  there  be  any?  and,  instead  of  a  Holy  Ghost  the  Lord  and 
Giver  of  Life,  do  you  nnlv  believe  in  an  unholy  mammon,  Lord 
and  Giver  of  Death?'  "—Letter  IX, 


THE  UFS  OF  JOHN  MVSKlIf  €g 

"Imol  this  last  clause  of  it,  (The  Lord's  Pwvpt)  a  petition  noi 
only  for  the  restoration  of  Paradise,  but  of  Paradi  «  in  which  then 
ehall  be  no  deadly  fruit,  or,  at  least  no  tempter  o  praise  it.  .  .  . 
And  is  it  not  for  want  of  this  q)ecial  directness  and  aunidieity  of 
petition  and  of  the  sense  of  its  acceptance  that  the  whole  nature 
of  praver  has  been  doubted -in  our  hearts,  and  disgraced  by  our 
hps;  that  we  are  afraid  to  ask  God's  blessing  on  the  earth,  when 
the  scientific  people  tell  u?  He  has  made  different  arrangements 
to  curse  ;  emd  that  instead  of  obeying,  without  fear  or  debate,  the 
plain  order,  'Ask,  and  ye  shall  rereive,  that  vour  jov  may  be  full,' 
we  sorrowfully  sink  back  into  the  apology  (or  prayer,  that  it  is  a 
wholesome  exercise,  even  when  fruitless,'  and  that  we  ought  piously 
always  to  suppose  that  the  text  really  meant  no  more  thaa  'Aak. 
and  ye  shall  not  leceive,  that  yoar  joy  may  be  emiOyf  ** 

In  1880  Mr.  Raskin  wrote  an  epilogue  to  these  letters  which  it 
published  in  the  same  volume,  from  which  the  following  passage 
is  taken  as  indicating  that  he  held  the  English  prayer-book  in 
reverence:— "If  people  «n  taught  to  use  the  Liturgy  rightly  and 
reverently,  it  will  bring  thorn  all  good;  and  for  some  thirty 
years  of  my  life  I  used  to  read  it  always  through  to  my  servant  and 
myself,  if  wohad  no  ProtMtuit  drardi  to  go  to,  in  Alpine  or  Ital> 
ian  villages." 

Commenting  t  ti.i^e  prayws  he  has  much  to  say  of  their  beauty 
of  ezpiasrion  bat,  he  venr  severe  in  his  criticisms  of  many  who 
use  them.  "To  ar  ...  , .  sin  is  indeed  different  from  confess- 
ing it,"  he  says:—  bat :  >?gnnot  be  done  at  a  mimitc'  nrttice;  and 
goodneiB  is  •  different  thing  from  mercy,  but  h  is  by  no  means 
God'a  infinite  goodnes'  that  forgives  our  ba :  V5,  b-.t  that  jodges 
it."  .  . .  "  'Who  livest  and  reigneat.'  Ri^t;  buw  ^.ow  many  congre- 
gationa  undenland  what  the  two  words  mean?  That  God  is  a  liv- 
ing God  and  not  a  dead  lav:  and  that  He  is  a  reigning  God,  pot- 
ting wrong  things  to  rigL  .  imd  that  sooner  or  la  tar,  with  a  strong 
hand  and  a  rod  of  iron,  bth^  not  at  all  witii  a  soft  qponge  and  warm 
water,  washing  everybody  as  clean  as  a  baby  every  Sunday  morn- 
ing, whatever  dirty  work  they  may  have  been  about  all  the  week." 

In  1878  Raskin  was  twice  an  irvited  guest  at  the  Gladstone  home 
at  Hawarden,  North  Wales.  One  result  of  these  visit*  was  a  cot- 
re^ndence  with  the  Misses  Gladst  ne,  during  the  years  which 
foHowed  to  1887,  and  a  volume  of  "Letters  to  M.  G.  and  H.  G." 
is  in  circulation,  which  furnishes  further  evidence  of  the  CMntlally 
rdigiooa  chanute  ni  Ruddn's  mind.  In  this  TohuM  w  find  ob* 


64  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

tracts  from  the  great  statesman's  diary  in  reference  to  the  visits 
alluded  to  above.  He  says: — 

"Mr.  Ruskin  came;  we  had  much  conversation,  intererting  of 
couffie,  as  it  must  always  be  with  him."  .  .  ;  • 
some  respects  an  unrivalled  guest,  and  those  iinportant 
respects  too.  .  .  .  Mr.  Ruskin  came;  health  better,  and  no  di- 
minution of  charm."  .  .  .  "Walk  with  the  Duke  of  Argjle,  Mr.  Rua- 
kib  and  party."  .  .  .  "Mr.  Ruskin  at  dinner  developed  his  political 
opinions.  They  aim  at  the  restoration  of  the  Judaic  system,  and 
exhibit  a  mixture  of  virtuous  absolutism  and  Christian  socialism. 
All  in  his  charming  and  benevolent  manner." 

The  introduction  to  this  volume  of  lettors  is  by  the  Hon.  Geo. 
Wyndham,  who  was  for  years  a  very  intimate  friend  of  the  Glad- 
stone family.  Mr.  Wyndham  says  it  chronicles  a  "visit  paid  by 
Ruskin,  the  rhetorician,  f^acher,  and  diviner  of  the  beautiful,  who 
vet  disbelieved  in  its  acceptability  by  man,  to  Gladstone,  the  st^es- 
nian,  theologian,  and  prophet  of  moral  energy  in  the  practi(»l 
affairs  of  a  nation's  life,  who  ever  believed,  not  alone  in  the  merit* 
of  his  cause,  but  in  the  certainty  of  its  triumph.  They  tell  of  the 
talk  that  passed  between  these  two,  who  seemed  opposite  in  aim  and 
were  so  in  method;  approaching  life,  whether  as  a  problem  to  be 
.  golved  or  a  task  to  he  accomplished,  by  divergent  paths  and  with 
sentiments  widely  sundered;  the  one,  in  grim  earnestness  and  ab- 
solute faith;  the  other,  with  sunlit  grace  playing  over  all  but  ab- 
solute despair."  A  few  extracts  from  this  volmne  wOl  be  of  inte^ 
Mt  hnre: 

"Something  like  a  little  amicable  duel  took  place  at  <ma  tima 
between  Ruskin  and  Mr.  G.,  when  Ruskin  directly  attacked  his 
host  as  a  'leveller.'  'You  see  you  think  one  man  as  good  as  an- 
other, and  all  men  equally  competent  to  judge  aright  on  ijoliticpl 
questions;  whereas  1  am  a  believer  in  an  aristocracy.  Ana 
straidit  came  the  answer  from  Mr.  Gladstone,  'Oh  dear,  no!  I  am 
nothmg  of  the  sort.  I  am  a  firm  belierw  in  the  aristocratic  pnn- 
ciplfr— the  rule  of  the  best.  I  am  an  out-and-out  inequahtaruin, 
a  confession  which  Ruskin  greeted  with  intraaa  delight,  dapping 
his  hands  tmnqihantly." 

The  same  volume  contains  a  paper  by  Canon  Scott  Holland,  who 
had  the  felicity  to  be  present  at  tiie  meeting  of  these  two  remark- 
able men.  Mr.  Holland  says: — 

"So  the  two  prophets  met,  pnd  were  knit  together  by  an 
affectionate  reverence  for  one  another  which  never  failed.  Each 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  65 

^fl  separate  work,  and  it  was  impos- 

«ble  that  they  should  co-operate  together.   But  for  all  that,  theV 
learnt  to  know  that  they  w;ere  fighting  on  the  same  side  in  the  great 
T  ^kT^  good  and  lU ;  that  they  had  the  same  cause  at  heart ; 
rlS./4t  •  ^      ""^^  supremacy  of  conscience  over  al 

matenaf  things,  and  m  the  hatefufness  of  lust  and  cruelty  and 
•wrong.  Their  spirits  drew  together  though  their  ways  lav  so  far 
apart;  and  this  because,  tovhpSx,  life  had Tta  deep  rJ^fii  Kimd 
ita  one  and  only  ccmsammation  in  God."  f^v,  »ua 

In  one  of  these  letters  we  get  a  glimpse  of  Buskin's  view  of  the 
future  life.  Writing  on  the  death  of  Carlyle,  whom  he  xeoaided 
w  bu  great  master  and  teacher,  he  says:  

"The  death  of  Carlyle  is  no  sorrow  to  me.  It  is,  I  believe  not  an 

™  I  b«^nning  o(  his  real  lif..  Nay,  perhaps  'aL^of  Sne   My  ?e 

TnThf  f  ^  ^^J    ^r'^'  f^'^^ing  not  enough  loved  him°n  the  Says 

Lv  ""V'^^"*^        t*?*       i°      hope  that  he  knows  what 

wi^rSiX'Ss  ^  T>."*  ot'her-moments/' This 

WM  written  m  1881.  The  volume  closes  with  the  following  eloquent 

o! fh^Y'ir"^'  ^-  S^^'^^^lder  and  older,  I  reignS  So 
K  V?u  P'^"*''^^"  ^  saying,  'Desire  shall  fail  and  the  Lurnm 
go  about  the  streets;'  and  I  content  myself  with  saying  TwTSJ 
It  may  concern,  that  the  thing  is  verily  thus,  whSher  thfv  will  K 
or  whether  they  will  forbear.^  No  mix  ino^Xn  I  Ever  love" 
the  places  where  God's  honour  dwells,  or  yielded  truer  alW  anS 
to  the  teachins:  of  His  evident  servants.   No  man  at  this  time  SotS 

Sf,.  V-***  ''^'T^  procrastinating  pax  vobiscum  in  answer  to  the  s?ii5 

feSr^^'-^K  ""^^^^  r".!'^  "^'^^^  over  the       iH  of 

English  faith,  and  watch  the  sparrow  find  nert  when  ^Tt^l^y 
her  young  around  the  altars  of  the  Lord."  ^ 

A  lady,  to  whom  Ruskm  dedicated  one  of  his  works,  writes  thus 
Jfthew  remarkable  letters:*  "They  are  like  the  'foam  globes  of 
te»yen,  I  might  say  they  have  exercised  my  mind  very  mueh 
Thmgs  m  them  which  at  first  seemed  rather  startling,  prove  on 
doser  eamination  to  be  full  of  deep  truth.  The  suggwtions  in 
them  lead  to  'great  seardiings  of  heart.'  There  is  much  with  which 
1  entirely  agree;  much  over  which  to  ponder.  What  an  insight 
into  homan  natore  is  shown  in  the  remark  that  though  we  are  so 
ready  to  call  ourselves  'mistmbb  dnnefi,'  w  nmat  being  aocnsed 
of  any  special  fault." 

Raskin  was  so  thoroughly  radical  in  his  view  of  truth,  and  in 


*MiM  SuMnnt  Becvcr. 


66 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


his  expression  of  it,  that  much  that  he  said  seemed  to  many  re- 
ligious people  as  antagonistic, — almost  revolutionary,— some 
thought,  sceptical.  But  his  most  intimate  American  friend  speaks 
of  "the  essentially  religious  character  of  Ruskin's  disposition,"* 
—and  if  emphasis  is  laid  on  that  word  "essentially"  we  have  in 
these  words  a  perfect  description.  In  very  essence  his  disposition 
was  religious ; — all  the  elements  of  his  moral  being  combined  in  one 
deeply  profound,  intensely  spiritual  man.  Whatever  the  theoM 
upon  which  he  worked, — whether  in  art,  science,  economy,  or  in 
benevolent  enterprise,  he  lived  and  moved  and  breathed  in  a  spirit- 
ual altitude  such  as  few  men  attain  unto. 

Very  much  of  what  he  said  seemed  to  be  contrary  to  accepted 
doctrine  because  he  saw  things  so  acutely  and  spoke  of  them  as  he 
saw  tlicm.  Writing  to  the  clergy  he  said: — "You  believe  what  you 
wish  to  believe ;  teach  that  it  is  wicked  to  doubt  it,  and  remain  at 
rest  and  in  much  self-satisfaction.  I  believe  what  I  find  to  be  true, 
whether  I  like  it  or  dislike  it.  And  I  teach  other  people  that  the 
chief  of  all  wickedness  is  to  tell  lies  in  God's  service,  and  to  dis- 
grace our  Master  and  destroy  His  sheep  as  involuntary  wolves." 

Although  much  of  Ruskin's  work  was,  in  its  nature  technical,  yet 
he  always  found  a  place  for  the  presentaMra  d  religious  truth, — so 
much  30, — that  he  was  criticised  for  preaching  .instead  of  teaching. 
But  he  held  that  no  teaching  could  be  full  or  true  which  left  out 
the  things  of  the  higher  life:— there  could  be  no  beeuty  without 
the  sky, — no  glory  without  the  sun, — no  life  without  God. 

As  evidence  of  all  this,  the  reader  is  invited  to  peruse  the  selec- 
tions which  form  a  practical  review  of  his  life  and  wmrk,  in  the 
continuation  of  this  volume.  If  special  examples  aze  oalled  for,  it 
will  be  acknowledged  that  his  greater  and  more  profound  writingi 
should  be  appealed  to:— "Modern  Painters,"  "Stones  of  Venice," 
end  "Seven  Lamps,"  although  other  of  his  works  may  be  preferred 
by  some.  Carlyle,  for  instance,  gives  {weference  to  "The  Eag^'e 
Nest." 

Well!  let  us  take  these  four,— and  if  we  chance  to  open  «t  the 

beginning,  or  turn  to  the  closing  passages,  we  find  sentences,  preg- 
nant of  spiritual  meaning,  profoundly  reverent  and  full  of  ultimate 
dependence  upon  the  Divine  in  all  things. 

'Cbarlet  EUot  Norton  In  i  letter  to  the  writer. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 

The  introduction  to  "Modem  Painters"  (Vol.  I)  closes  with  this 
•ppeal  for  a  recognition  of  'he  good  in  men  while  they  live:— 

"He  who  has  once  stood  beside  the  grave,  to  look  back  unon  tha 
companionship  which  has  been  forever  doLed,  fSinTLw  hnrw! 
tent  jAm  are  the  wild  love,  or  the  keen  sorro^  to^give  orS^ 
BUm  s  pleasure  to  the  pulseless  heart,  or  atone  in  the  Swest  meS- 
ure  to  ty  departed  spirit  for  the  hour  of  unkindness.  wUl  sc^X 
for  the  future  incur  that  debt  to  the  heart,  which  can  Tnly^^ 
charged  to  the  dust.  But  the  lesson  which  rem°ve  as  indf 
vidua  Is,  hey  do  not  learn  as  nations.  Again  and  aS  thfv  h^e 
wen  Aeir  noblest  descend  into  the  gra^,  and  hfJe  thought  U 

SS;*in5  bad  not  crowned  thi 

ho'ior  to  the  ashes  which  they  had  denied  to 
2!  T  \  ^J'splease  them  that  they  are  bidden,  amidrt 

the  tumult  and  the  dazzle  of  their  busy  life,  to  listen  for  thTfew 
hS  to^r*"^  ^'V^'  few  lamps/which  God  has  tonS\nd 
St^^tntTy  ilUSi%orrh;ir*^4f  h?;  ffl  ^^^^ 

ttn^iiir""  " 

it  mS?  ^wfth°S,^:?'!'n7L!I?  B«t  how  shall 

wiS^SlJSi^"  81*^'  i»  "  written;  and  yet  .iot 

witb  oiManrptioa,  it  is  also  written.    Strange  kinedom     vlt  Hi 
■tamgeness  is  miewed  to  us  with  everv  dawn  ^ 

I  Au  kingdom  it  is  not  in  our  power  to  brins-  but  it  i»  *a  m. 
ceive.   Nay  it  has  come  already, Tn  part;  bK  iiei^**^! 

fnd  SSLbSJLj..^  ®  P*"!,  shutting  out  must  grow  greater 
?K.  af^     TT"**''         '^^y-  *hat  struggle  of  man  with  m^^ 

dSsrt  monnflS,   Jf  1^^  "  "u  I*^^  ''f  High  On  the 

dwert  mountain,  full  described,  sits  throned  the  tempter%ith  hia 
Old  promi»-the  kingdoms  of  this  world,  and  thTgFoJv  oT  them 
He  still  calls  you  to  your  Ubor,  •>  Christ  to  your  rJ Sabor  -^j' 
■orrow,  base  desire,  and  cruel  hope.'»         ^  "at,— labor  end 

fJil^*^^*''  ?!  ^'^  (Vol.  I)  opens  with  • 

tOMTk  upon  Bin  as  the  cause  of  the  fall  of  thrones  and  nation"- 

thr5'X«2;^iS  Wond  Tn^r  «f  erted  over  the  ocean, 
sand*-  tSrSJ-L-rSTnC?  ,r*'!  "t"^"'  *'"^e  been  set  upon  its 
M  thee.  p«t  p9,,„  ««,y  y„  ,,3,^  ^  ^  ^^nm 


68 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN. 


ruin;  the  third,  which  inherits  their  greotneas,  if  it  tor^ei  their 
example,  may  be  led  thzoo^  prouder  «iiiii«ioe  to  lea  pitied  de- 
•tructioD. 

"The  exaltation,  the  sin,  and  the  piinishineiit  of  Tjtt  htsn  been 

recorded  for  us,  in  perhaps  the  most  touching  words  ever  utterr;d 
by  the  Prophets  of  Israel  against  the  cities  of  the  stranger.  But 
we  read  them  as  a  lovely  song;  and  close  our  ears  to  the  sternness 
of  their  warning:  for  the  very  depth  of  the  fall  of  Tyre  has  blinded 
OS  to  its  reality,  and  we  forget,  as  we  watch  the  bleaching  of  the 
rocks  between  the  sunshine  and  the  tea,  that  they  were  onoe  "as  in 
Eden,  the  garden  of  God." 

The  last  chapter  (Stones  of  Venice,  Vol.  3)  contains  the  fol- 

lowing  on  Go-operaiion  with  the  Divine: — 

"Whether  the  opportunity  is  to  be  permitted  us  to  redeem  the 
hours  that  we  have  lost;  whether  He,  in  whose  sight  a  thousand 

years  are  as  one  day,  has  appointed  us  to  be  tried  by  the  continued 
possession  of  the  strange  powers  with  which  He  has  lately  endowed 
us;  or  whether  the  periods  of  childhood  and  of  probation  are  to 
cease  together,  and  the  youth  of  mankind  is  to  be  one  which  shall 
prevail  over  death,  and  bloom  for  ever  in  the  midst  of  a  new  heaven 
and  a  new  earth,  are  questions  with  which  we  have  no  concern.  It 
is  indeed  right  that  we  should  look  for,  and  hasten,  so  far  as  in  us 
lies,  the  coming  of  the  Day  of  God ;  but  not  that  we  should  check 
any  human  efforts  by  anticipations  of  its  approach.  We  shall 
hasten  it  best  by  endeavoring  to  work  out  the  tasks  that  are  ap- 
pointed for  us  here;  and,  therefore,  reasoning  as  if  the  world  were 
to  continue  under  its  existing  dispensation,  and  the  powers  which 
have  just  been  eranted  to  us  were  to  be  continued  through  myriads 
of  future  ages.^  Ch.  IV. 

From  the  introductory  chapter  of  "Seven  Lamps"  we  take  this 
superb  note  on  the  Providence  of  God  and  the  adaptl^icai  ci  th* 

Scriptures  to  all  men  and  all  circumstances: 

"We  treat  God  with  irreverence  by  banishing  Him  from  our 
thoughts,  not  by  referring  to  His  will  on  slight  occasions.  His  is 
not  the  finite  authority  or  intelligence  which  cannot  be  troubled 
with  small  things.  There  is  nothing  so  small  but  that  we  may 
honor  God  by  asking  His  guidance  of  it,  or  insult  Him  by  taking 
it  into  -ur  own  hands ;  and  what  is  true  of  the  Deity  is  equally  true 
of  His  Revelation.  We  u.-se  it  most  reverently  when  most  habit- 
ually: our  insolence  is  in  ever  acting  without  reference  to  it,  our 
true  honoring  of  it  is  in  its  universal  application.  I  have  been 
blamed  for  the  familiar  introduction  of  its  sacred  words.  I  am 
grieved  to  have  given  pain  by  so  doing;  but  my  excuse  must  be  my 
wish  that  thoaa  words  wure  made  the  ground  of  every  argoment  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN 

ftf.  "7^  ^®  »»ot  o^ten  enoueh  on  our 

y^tk    ThfSjT^^  rr"**'      loyally  enS  oSJ 

lives,    me  snow,  the  vapor,  end  the  atormy  wind  fulfill  Hi«  wnJSi 

The  last  chapter  on  the  "Lamp  of  Obedience"  closes  thus  - 

something  ominous  in  the  light  which  has  enabled  S  to  look^ck 
with  disdain  upon  the  ages  among  whose  lovely  vSiL  wJ  E«™ 
been  wandering.  I  could^mUe  when  iTar  RopffXxuL^?^ 

eLTi!;  li*^"  "'^         °'  '«>rf<ily  science  anr^^g^r  of  wS^ 
"^^^^^^^^  "Sain  at  the  beginning  of  days    Thew  i 

S^'^V^u****  J*""^"  ^  a«  dawn.  The  sun  wis  risen  SoS 
the  earth  when  Lot  entered  into  Zoar."        "  naen  upon 

Again,  so  far  from  exalting  the  intellect  above  the  heart  or 

^^^l^W  J-'^^^^^Id  the  soul-value  of^  " 

e^reme.   In  ha  condudmg  chapter  of  "Stones  of  Venice"  he 

"It  must  be  felt  at  once,  that  the  increaM  nt  Vnn.i.j»>  t 

sight,  between  one  man  and  another.    And  that  which  iL  Si 

^L  f  ^u^'  ?f ^  all  in  all  Traan^s  labor" 

and  to  have  the  heart  open,  and  the  evM  rlpni.         fk-  ' 

and  thoughts  warm  and  Wck  and  L7t"et"W^^^^^ 
other  fact  IS  the  state  needed  for  all  mighty  doing  in  this  orTd 
And  therefore  finally,  for  this,  the  weightier  of  all  Jcasons  let  ^ 
l^nowledge.  We  may,  in  a  certirn  sense  b^ 
proud  of  bcmg  immortal :  we  may  be  proud  of  b^iig  God"  chS 
dren;  we  may  be  proud  of  loving,  thinking,  seeing,  a^d  of  a  1  that 

bv  Z^^r*  l"'',?'"^^  «f  ^hat  wS^aTb^n  taugh 

by  rote;  no  of  the  ballast  and  freight  of  the  ship  of  the  spirit 
but  only  of  lU  pilotage,  without  whirg  all  the  froight  wHl  only'^Sk 

L'lfwi,-'"**  "^'^'y         its  ruin     There  5 

not  at  this  moment  a  youth  of  twenty,  having  received  what  w^ 
modems  ndioulously  call  edaoation,  bnt  he  known  more  of^ew! 
thing,  except  the  soul,  than  Plato  or  St.  Paul  did;  but  he 

be  heard  by  others,  than  Plato  or  St  Paul." 


7e  THE  REUOION  OF  RVSKIN 

An  ecstatic  passage  on  "Wisdom"  opens  the  first  lecttue  of  "The 
Eagle's  Nest:" 

"Over  these  three  kingdoms  of  imagination,  art,  and  science, 
there  reigns  a  virtue  of  faculty,  which  from  all  time,  and  by  all 
great  people,  has  been  rec(^iaed  as  the  appointed  ruler  and  guide 
of  every  method  of  labour,  or  passion  of  tovl;  «nd  the  m<Mt  glo- 
rious recompense  of  the  toil,  and  crown  of  the  ambitioii  of  maa. 
'She  is  more  precious  than  rubies,  and  all  the  things  thou  canst  de- 
Bire  are  not  to  be  compared  unto  her.  Lay  fast  hold  upon  her; 
let  her  not  go ;  keep  her,  for  she  is  thy  life.'  .  .  .  The 
result  of  the  inquiry  will  be,  that  instead  of  regarding  none  of  the 
sources  of  happiness,  she  regards  nothing  else;  that  she  measures 
all  worthiness  by  pure  felicity;  that  we  are  permitted  to  conceive 
her  as  the  cause  even  of  gladness  to  God — 'I  was  daily  Hm  mlight, 
rejoicing  alwaj's  before  Ilim,' — and  that  we  are  commanded  to 
know  her  as  queen  of  the  populous  world,  'rejoicing  in  the  habi- 
«able  parts  of  the  eurth,  and  whose  delights  are  with  the  MU  of 
men.'^' 

We  do  not  hesitate  to  afifirm  that  the  grand  secret  of  Ruskin, 
whether  we  view  him  as  a  moral  teacher,  or,  as  "the  first  prose 
writer  of  his  century"*  is  that  he,  like  Shakspeare  and  other  great 
poets,  drew  their  inspiration  from  Scriptures.  It  might  indeed 
prove  a  profitable  task  to  the  sceptic  to  enquire  what  great  English 
literature  he  can  find  that  is  not  so  inspired?.  We  claim  them 
all, — including  some  whose  professed  faith  was  opposed  to  it;— all 
the  poets  worthy  the  name,— all  the  great  authors  of  fiction,--all 
the  greatest  and  best  of  modem  historians ;— even  the  scientists, 
whose  very  business  and  function  it  is  to  look  towards  the  material, 
yet  see  God  in  and  through  Nature,  and  offer  tribute  to  the  Bible, 
while  every  great  statesman  of  modem  times  bow  reverently  before 
the  name  of  Jesus,  and  the  rulers  of  kingdoms  acknowledge  Him 
King  and  "Crown  Him  Lord  of  All." 

"/*  $hall  come  to  pass  that  at  evening  time  it  thaU  be  light." 
Zech.  14:7.  Mr.  Collingwood  could  hardly  have  chosen  a  more 
appropriate  text  with  which  to  close  his  loving  task  of  writing  the 
life  of  his  friend,  than  in  the  selection  of  this.  The  passage  over 
life's  ocean  had  not  been  a  great  calm.  Ruskin,  who  never  knew 
a  smuggle  for  bread  for  himself,  yet  constantly  battled  for  it  for 
(rtheiB.  All  along  he  tnmuled  in  pain  fw  the  w«rld  <tf  sin  and 
sorrow,  as  he  saw  it. 

*-Ormt  BMte  M  Lift  Tnehen."  BiUis. 


THE  LIFE  OF  JOHN  RUSKIN  ft 

"T  do  aot  know,"  he  said,  "what  my  England  desires,  or  how 
loHj^  ahe  will  choose  to  do  as  she  is  doing  now ; — with  her  right  hand 
casting  awagr  the  souls  of  men,  and  with  her  left  the  sifts  of  Qod. 

"kx  the  jmgFers  which  she  dietatv  to  her  diudrcn,  she  telli 
them  to  fight  ngiinst  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  Some  day, 
perhaps,  it  any  also  ooeur  to  her  as  desirable  to  tell  those  children 
what  she  means  by  this.  What  is  the  world  which  they  are  to  'fight 
with,'  and  how  does  it  differ  from  the  world  which  they  are  to  'get 
on  in?'  The  explanation  seems  to  me  the  more  needful,  because  I 
do  not,  in  the  book  we  proless  to  live  by,  ftad  anything  very  distinct 
•boat  fighting  m<h  the  worid.  I  find  smnething  about  fighting 
with  the  rulers  at  ils  darkness,  and  something  also  about  overcom- 
ing it ;  but  it  does  net  follow  that  this  conquest  is  to  be  by  hostility, 
since  evil  may  be  overcome  with  good.  But  I  find  it  written  very 
distinctly  that  God  loved  the  world,  and  that  Christ  is  the  light 
of  it. 

"What  the  much-«Md  words,  thnrefote,  mMm,  I  cannot  teU.  But 
this,  I  believe,  they  tIkoM  mmn.  That  there  is,  indeed,  one  world 
which  is  full  of  cue,  uid  desire,  and  hatred :  a  world  of  war,  of 
which  Christ  is  not  Uie  light,  which  indeed  is  without  light,  and 
has  never  heard  the  preat  'Let  there  be.*  \Miich  is,  therefore,  iu 
truth,  as  yet  no  world;  but  chaos,  on  the  face  of  which,  moving, 
the  Spirit  of  God  yet  causes  men  to  hope  that  a  world  will  come. 
The  better  one,  tfaair  call  k:  perhi^  they  m^t,  more  wisely,  call 
it  the  real  one.  Jm,  I  h«r  them  speak  continually  of  going  to  it, 
rather  than  of  its  coming  to  them ;  which,  again,  is  strange,  for  in 
that  prayer  which  they  had  straight  from  the  lips  of  the  Light  of 
the  world,  and  which  He  apparently  thought  sufficient  prayer  for 
them,  there  is  not  anything  about  going  to  another  world;  only 
something  of  another  government  coming  into  Ais;  or  rather,  not 
another,  but  the  oaly  ajwiiiiiiHsnt, — that  gcmaaaaai  which  will 
aonstitute  it  a  woili  j^SmiT  jTrisiii  Bumtm,  VoL  6.  Clonng 
•kapttr  OA  Pmcs. 

Mr.  Ruskin  lived  to  wAe  dnnaof  tile  nawanlBiy.  ThaniiM* 

teenth  century  was  not  yet  nineteen  years  old  when  lu  was  bom, 
and  at  past  eighty  years  of  age  he  quietly  passed  away  without  a 
struggle.  Among  the  numerous  floral  and  other  tributes,  (more 
than  a  hnadfed  and  twenty-five)  one  tram  %m  y^S^  liAor  wm^ 
perhaps  the  most  striking  and  significant;  it  bore  the  mtdn— 
"There  was  a  man  sent  from  God,  and  his  name  was  John.'' 

In  the  business  world  it  is  eustonuuy  to  eatfanate  the  mvtKk  of 
men  and  nations  by  their  material  possessions,  but  when  the  final 
balance  sheet  shall  be  recorded  it  will  be  found  that  its  xaaA  tiiaiiimiii 


j»  THE  RELIGION  OF.  RUSKIN 

assets  are  the  men  and  women  who  have  given  tKtm$elve$  for  the 
world; — the  propheta— 

"Bard*.  Patriot!,  Martjrn,  Sagca, 
The  noble  of  all  age* 
WboM  deeda  crown  hiitory'a  pages 
Aad  TIflw's  gtMt  vohuM  ■tte." 

As  he  drew  near  his  mortal  end  John  Ruskin's  belief  in  immor' 
tality  grew  stronger  and  brighter.  His  faith  in  God  was  as  simple 
as  that  of  a  chUd.  During  his  declining  years  his  mind  was  often 
clouded,  but  in  the  intervaU  of  dear  thought  he  would  eoftly  mur- 
mur, over  and  over,  the  lines  of  Tennyson: 

"Sunset  and  evening  star, 

And  one  clear  call  for  me; 
And  n>ay  there  be  do  moaniof  o(  tte  ber. 
When  I  put  out  to  sea." 

On  the  twentieth  morning  of  January,  1900,  he  cahnly  fell 
asleep  in  that  home  at  Coniston,  whose  bright  blue  skies  and  calm 
lake  had  cheered  his  last  days.  We  cannot  do  better  than  close  our 
sketch  of  his  life  with  woida  of  his  own,  inapured  as  they  are  of  the 

future  hope.  .  .    ,  «  j  ^^^a 

"And  perfect  the  day  shall  be,  when  it  is  of  all  men  understood 
that  the  beauty  of  Holiness  must  be  in  Ubour  as  well  as  in  rest 
Nay  I  more  if  it  may  be,  in  labour!  in  our  strength,  rather  than 
in  our  weakness,  «nd  in  the  choice  of  what  we  shall  work  for 
through  the  six  days,  and  know  to  be  good  at  their  evenmg  tune, 
than  in  the  choice  of  what  we  pray  for  on  the  seventh,  of  reward  or 
repose.  With  the  multitude  that  keep  holiday,  we  may  perhaps 
sometimes  vainly  have  gone  up  to  the  house  of  the  I^rd,  and  vamly 
there  asked  for  what  we  fancied  would  be  mercy;  but  for  the  few 
who  labour  as  the  Lord  would  have  them,  the  mercy  needd  no 
■eeking,  and  their  wide  home  no  hallowing.  Surely  goodness  and 
mercy  shall  follow  them,  all  the  days  of  their  life;  and  they  shaU 
dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord-FOR  EVER."* 


>Leetnres  oo  Art 


fiOOK  SECOND 


Religious  Thought  in  Ait 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART 


I 

MODERN  PAINTERS. 
V<tt.L(1848.) 
Part  I.   Of  Generai,  Principles. 

Sect.  1.   Nature  of  Ideas — 7  Chapa. 
Sect  2.  Of  Powefw^  Cau^i. 

Part  n.  Or  Truth. 

Sect.  1.  General  Principles — 7  Chaps. 

Sect.  2.  General  Trutha-^  Chaps. 

Sect.  3.  Of  Troths  of  Skies— 6  ChapB. 

Sect.  4.  Of  Truths  of  Earth— 4  Chaps. 

Sect.  5.  Of  Truth  of  Watei^  Chaps. 

Seek  6.  Of  Truth  of  Vegetation— 3  Chaps. 

The  first  volume  of  Modem  Painters  was  published  when  Ruskin 
(at  23)  was  a  student  at  the  University.  It  did  not  bear  the  name 
of  the  author  but  was  issued  under  his  nom  de  plume,  "Kata 
Phimn."  It  was  Ruskin's  first  great  work  of  criticism,  but  such  was 
its  unmistakable  acceptance  and  power,  that  it  clearly  indicated 
the  real  mission  of  the  author;  he  laid  aside  the  role  of  Poet  with 
which  his  previous  work  seemed  to  invest  him,  and  entered  the  arena 
of  battle  for  principles,  with  all  that  intnisity  and  earnestness  which 
characterised  his  labors  for  half  a  century.  Not  that  he  ceased  to  be 
poetical,  for  at  no  time  of  his  life  did  he  fail  to  express  himself  in 
the  highest  form  of  ptoae-poetry. 

The  origin  and  purpose  of  this  volume  of  Modem  Paintea  an  an* 
nounced  by  the  author  himself  in  his  first  preface : 

"The  work  now  laid  before  the  public  originated  in  indignation  at 
the  shallow  and  false  criticism  of  periodicals  of  the  day  on  the  worka 
of  the  great  living  artist  to  whom  it  principally  lefets.   It  was  izk- 

75 


76 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


tended  to  be  a  short  pamphlet,  reprobating  the  matter  and  style  of 
those  critiq^ues,  and  pointing  out  their  perilous  tendency,  as  guides  of 
public  feehne.  ...  Of  whatever  character  the  work  may  be 
considered,  the  motives  which  led  me  to  undertake  it  must  not  be 
mistaken.  No  zeal  for  the  reputation  of  any  individual,  no  personal 
feeling  of  any  kind,  has  the  slightest  weight  or  influence  with  me. 
.  .  .  But  when  public  taste  seems  plunging  deeper  and  deeper  into 
degradation  day  by  day,  and  v/hen  the  press  universally  exerts  sudi 
power  as  it  possesses  to  direct  the  feeling  of  the  nation  more  com- 
pletely to  all  that  is  theatrical,  affected,  and  false  in  art;  while  it 
vents  its  ribald  buffooneries  on  the  most  exalted  truth,  and  the 
highest  idea  of  landscape,  that  this  or  any  other  age  has  ever  wit- 
nessed it  becomes  the  imperative  duty  of  all  who  have  any  percep- 
tion or  knowledge  of  what  is  really  great  in  art,  and  any  desire  for 
Its  advancement  in  England,  to  come  ferjlessly  forward,  regardless 
of  such  individual  intere^  as  are  likely  to  be  injured  by  the  knowl- 
edg-  of  what  is  good  and  right,  to  declare  and  demonstrate,  where- 
ever  they  exist,  the  essence  and  the  authority  of  the  Beautiful  and 
the  True." 

These  prefatory  statements  are,  in  a  great  measore,  the  fore- 

word  of  all  Buskin's  work. 

In  a  second  preface,  to  a  later  edition  of  this  volnme,  he  writes  of 
a  common  fault  of  critics.  His  words  of  reprobation  are  as  need- 
ful at  the  present  time  as  when  they  were  written,  more  than  sixty 
years  ago:  "Nothing,  perhaps,  bears  on  the  face  of  it  more  appear- 
ance of  folly,  ignorance,  and  impertinence,  than  any  attempt  to  di- 
mmish the  honor  of  those  to  whom  the  assent  of  many  generations 
has  assigned  a  throne.  .  .  .  The  envious  and  incompetent  have  usu- 
ally been  the  leaders  of  attack,  content  if,  like  the  foulness  of  the 
earth,  they  may  attract  to  themselves  notice  by  their  noisomeness,  or, 
like  its  insects,  exalt  themselves  by  virulence  into  visibility.  ...  Bo 
it  remembered,  that  the  spirit  of  detraction  is  detected  onlv  when  un- 
successful, and  receives  least  punishment  where  it  effects  the  greatest 
injury  ;  and  it  cannot  but  be  felt  that  there  is  as  much  danger  that 
the  rising  of  new  stars  should  be  concealed  by  the  mists  which  are 
unseen,  as  that  those  throned  in  heaven  should  be  dukened  by  **'e 
clouds  which  are  visible." 

Evidently,  Ruskin,  at  a  very  early  period  of  his  life,  appreciated 
the  enormous  influence  of  the  periodical  Press  of  his  day,  which  had 
been  mainly  instnnnental  in  consigning  the  work  of  the  great 
English  Artist  to  obscurity,  and  he  realized  that  no  mere  skirmish 
battle  would  win  for  the  world  the  right  place,  or  a  true  estimate,  of 
the  wealth  of  art  which  it  poawod  in  flioie  ma^rly  paintings,  now 
recognind  as  among  Uie  most  iniceleaB  of  the  World's  Art  treannea. 


BEUOlOVa  THOVOHT  IN  ART 

This  Moond  pielMe,  of  forty  pages,  is  itself  an  able  defence  of  the 
whole  position  taken  in  the  battle  and  it  doses  with  the  foUoidng: 

*^ot  many  a  year  we  have  heard  nothing  with  respect  to  the  works 
of  Tamer  but  accusations  of  their  want  of  truth.  To  every  observa- 
tion on  their  power,  sublimity,  or  beauty,  there  has  been  but  one  re- 
ply:  They  are  not  like  nature.  I  therefore  took  my  opponents  on 
their  own  ground,  and  demonstrated,  by  thorough  investigation  of 
actual  facts,  that  Turner  is  like  nature,  and  paints  more  of  nature 
than  any  man  who  ever  lived.  I  expected  this  proposition  (the 
foundation  of  all  my  future  eflforts)  would  have  been  disputed  with 
Asperate  struggles,  and  that  I  should  have  had  to  fidit  my  way  to 
mv  posiUon  mch  by  inch.  Not  at  alL  My  opponent  yield  me  the 
fielaatonoe."  —  j  imvhm 

child: — ^FATHKB  OV  THE  MAN. 

There  ia  a  singular  sense  in  which  the  child  may  peculiarly  be 
said  to  be  father  of  the  man.  In  many  arts  and  attainments,  tho 
hrst  and  last  stages  of  progress— the  infancy  and  the  consumma- 
tion— Have  many  features  in  common;  while  the  intermediate 
sieges  are  wholly  unlike  either,  and  are  farthest  from  the  right. 
ThoB  It  18  m  the  progress  of  a  painter's  handling.  We  see  the  per- 
fect child, — the  absolute  beginner,  using  of  necessity  a  broken 
imperfect,  inadequate  line,  which,  as  he  advances,  becomes  gradu- 
ally firm,  severe,  and  decided.  Yet  before  he  becomes  a  perfect 
artot,  this  seventy  and  decision  will  again  be  exchanged  for  a  light 
and  carelcM  stroke,  which  in  manypoints  will  far  more  resemble  that 
of  his  childhood  than  of  hu  middle  age— differing  from  it  only  by 
the  consmnmai«  effect  wrought  out  by  the  apparentlv  inadequate 
means.  So  it  is  m  many  matters  of  opinion.  Our  first  and  last 
coincide,  thcugh  on  different  grounds;  it  is  the  middle  stage  which  is 
farthest  from  the  truth.  Childhood  often  holds  a  truth  with  its  fee- 
ble fin^rs,  which  the  grasp  of  manhood  cannot  retain,— which  it  is 
the  pnde  of  utmost  age  to  recover.— Pre/oce  to  Snd  EdUion. 

LANDSCAPE  PAINTOra  HAS  NOT  ANSWERED  ITS  END. 

Whatever  influence  we  may  be  disposed  to  admit  in  the  great 
works  of  sacred  art,  no  doubt  can,  I  think,  be  reasonably  entertained 
as  to  the  utt»  inutility  of  all  that  has  been  hitherto  accomplished 
by  the  painters  of  landscape.  No  moral  end  has  been  answered,  no 
permanent  good  effected,  by  any  of  their  works.  They  may  have 
amused  the  intellect,  or  exercised  the  ingenuity,  but  they  never  have 
spoken  to  the  heart.  Landscape  art  has  never  taught  us  <me  deep  or 
holy  l^n  ;.it  has  not  recorded  thnt  which  is  fleeting,  nor  penetrated 
that  which  was  hidden,  nor  interpreted  that  whieh  was  obeeinre;  it 
MS  nevwmade  us  feel  the  wonder,  nor  the  power,  nor  the  glory  of 
H»  univene;  it  has  not  prompted  to  devotion,  nor  touched  with  awe^ 


7S  THE  RELIGION  OF  RU8KIN 

ik  power  to  move  and  exalt  the  heart  has  been  fatally  abused,  and 
perished  in  the  abusing.  I'hat  which  ought  to  have  been  a  witness 
to  the  omnipotence  of  God,  has  become  an  exhibition  of  the  dexteri* 
tv  of  man,  and  that  which  should  have  lifted  our  thoughts  to  the 
uirone  of  the  Deity,  has  encumbered  than  with  the  inTenttooi  of 
his  creatures. — Preface  to  £nd  EdiHon. 

OBBAT  .  UNTINOS  AND  THE  HONOB  OF  OOD. 

I  assert  with  sorrow,  that  all  hitherto  done  in  landscape,  by  those 
commonly  conceived  its  masters,  has  never  prompted  one  holy 
thought  in  the  minds  of  nations.  It  has  begun  and  ended  in  ex- 
hibitmgthe  dexterities  of  individuds,  and  conventionalities  of  sys* 
terns.  Filling  the  world  with  the  honor  of  Claude  and  Salvator,  it 
has  never  once  tended  to  the  honor  of  God. 

Does  the  reader  start  in  reading  these  last  words,  as  if  they  were 
those  of  wild  enthusiasm, — as  if  1  were  lowering  the  dignity  of  re- 
ligion by  supposing  that  its  cause  could  be  advanced  by  such 
means?  His  surprise  proves  my  position.  It  doe«  sound  like  wild, 
like  absurd  enthusiasm,  to  expect  any  definite  moral  agency  in  the 
painters  of  landscape;  but  ought  it  so  to  sound?  Are  me  gorgeooe* 
ntm  of  the  visible  hue,  the  §lory  of  the  realifed  form,  instmments  in 
the  artist's  hand  so  ineffective,  that  they  can  answer  no  nobler  par> 
pose  than  the  amusement  of  curiosity,  or  the  engagement  of  idle* 
ness?  Must  it  not  be  owing  to  gross  neglect  or  misapplication  of 
the  means  at  his  command,  that  while  words  and  tones  (means  of 
representing  nature  surely  less  powerful  than  lines  and  colors)  can 
kindle  and  purify  the  verjr  inmost  souls  of  men,  ^e  painter  can 
only  hope  to  entertain  hy  his  efforts  at  expression,  and  must  remain 
forever  orooding  over  his  inciommnniceMe  thoughts? — Prejaee  8nd 
Edition, 

BEAUTY  AND  DIFFICULTY. 

5.  It  has  bee.,  made  part  of  our  moral  nature  that  we  should  have 
a  pleasure  in  encountenng  and  conquering  opposition,  for  the  sake 
of  the  struggle  and  thr  victory,  not  for  the  sake  of  any  i^ter  re- 
sult; and  not  only  our  ^wn  victory,  but  the  peAxption  of  that  of  an> 
other,  is  in  all  cases  the  source  of  pure  and  ennobling  pleMore. 
.  .  .  It  is  far  more  difficult  to  be  simple  than  to  be  complicated; 
far  more  difficult  to  sacrifice  skill  and  cease  exertion  in  the  proper 
place,  than  to  expend  both  indiscriminately.  We  shall  find,  in  the 
course  of  our  investigation,  that  beauty  and  difficulty  go  together; 
and  that  they  are  only  mean  and  paltry  difficulties  which  it  i. 
wrong  or  contemptible  to  wrestle  with.  Be  it  remembered  then — 
Power  is  never  wasted.  Whatever  power  has  been  employed,  pro- 
duces excellence  in  proportion  to  its  own  dignity  and  exe.iion; 
and  the  faculty  of  perceiving  this  exertion,  and  wpreciatins  this 
dignity,  is  the  faculty  of  perceiving  excelliBnoe. — ldea$  of  Powtr, 
Pi,  1, 896. 1,  Ch.  5. 


BBUQ10V8  THOUGHT  IN  ART  19 

NO  BEAVTT  VirBOVT  TKDTH. 

rii'tn  U^IS^^n^iuT  ^'ot^aw  grouijed  together,  so  as  to  give 
Viae  to  an  Idea  of  imitation,  they  change  their  very  nature— lose  their 
wsence  as  ideas  of  truth— and  are  corrupted  and  degraded,  so  as  to 
share  in  Ae  treacherv  of  what  they  have  produced.  Hence,  finaUy. 
ideas  of  truth  are  the  foundation,  and  ideas  of  imitation  the  dte- 
rtructaon.  of  all  art  We  d>aU  be  better  able  to  apprecSte  the"  rel^ 
tiZW^?**'  ''Wch  we  proW^  the  f^n^ 

♦«  »K?«K  '^r??''!**"*^^,"^*^  ?  '"^  «^P««»  the  conclusion 
to  which  we  shall  then  be  led— that  no  picture  can  h,  good  which 
^yes  by  Its  imitation,  for  the  very  reason  that  notl5ng  can  be 
beautiful  which  is  not  tme.— Ideas  of  Truth,  Sec.  1,  CK.  sT 

THE  FUNCTION  OP  BEAUTY. 

i>,f  K^Sff  ''^  are  among  the  noblest  which  can  be  presented 

the  human  mmd,  invariably  exalting  and  purifying  it  according  to 
their  de^e;  and  it  would  appear  that  we  in  intended  bvthTDeitv 
to  be  constantly  under  their  fifluence,  because  th^S  iTnoto  Je  sinrfj 

te  'Shl  ^-a^r  ^^"'^y'  °^  conveying  them,  and  wS 

to  the  nghtJy  percemng  mind,  does  not  present  an  incalculably 
Rneter  number  of  beautiful  than  of  deform^  partsrthere  bSnt  ij 
{!li.1?rK  ^  anvthing,  m  pure,  undiseased  nature,  like  positive  de- 
formity,  but  only  degrees  of  beauty,  or  such  slight  and  rare  points 
of  permitted  contrast  as  may  render  aU  around  them  m^yS^ 
b^  aieir  o|>poeition,  ipoti  of  bU»kneM  in  eteition,  to  maSe 

IDEAS  OP  BEAUTY. 

6.  Ideas  of  beauty  are  the  subjects  of  moral,  But  not  of  intel- 
lectual perception  fey  the  investigation  of  then^  we  duS  be  W  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  ideal  subjects  of  art.   .  «»"w»««w 

iiJJf.«i^°'*  ^^""Ui  a  ™ean  subject  of  con- 

twnplation,  compared  to  the  emotion,  exertion  and  character  of  that 

We  that  of  the  brow  of  the  Madonna ;  and  the  divine  form  of  the 
^}  f^'  1^  J  ".u*®  incarnation  and  expression  of  divine 

DANGEB  OP  EASY  POPULARITY. 

10.  There  is  wsrhaps  no  greater  stumbling-block  in  the  artist's 
way,  than  the  tendency  to  sacrifice  truth  and  simplicity  to  decision 
and  velocity  captivating  qualiti'es,  ea<!y  of  attainment/and  sure  to 
attract  attention  and  praise,  while  the  delicate  degree  of  truth  which 

atfirrt  sacnfic^  to  them  is  so  totally  unappreciable  by  the  majority 
Of  spectaton,  so  diflkuh  of  attainment  to  th^^ar&t,  thiui  H  is  no 


8o  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN. 

der  that  efforts  so  arduous  and  unrewarded  should  be  abandoned. 
But  if  tiie  tempti^on  be  onoe  yielded  to,  its  oonfequences  are  fatal; 

there  is  no  pause  in  the  fall.  .  .  .  What  was  fsst  nej^eot  of  nature, 
has  become  contradiction  of  her;  what  wr^  once  imperfection,  is  now 
falsehood ;  and  all  that  was  meritorious  in  his  manner,  is  becoming 
the  wont,  because  the  most  attractive  of  vices:  decision  without  a 
foundation,  and  swiftness  without  an  end. — Pt.  I,  See.  8,  Ch.  B. 

THB  SCBUMB  VX  DEATB. 

2.  There  are  few  thin  %  so  great  as  death;  and  there  is  perhaps 
nothing  which  banisbe  ^  littleaeas  of  thought  and  feeling  in  an 
equal  d^ree  with  its  jmplation.  Everything,  therefwe,  whidi 
in  any  way  points  to  ;  ^d.  therefore,  most  dangen  and  powen  ovor 
which  we  have  little  control,  are  in  some  degree  sublime.  But  it  is 
not  the  fear,  observe,  but  the  contemplation  of  death ;  not  the  instinc- 
tive shudder  and  struggle  of  self-preservation,  bnt  the  deliberate  meas- 
urement of  the  doom,  which  are  really  great  or  sublime  in  feeling. 
It  is  not  while  we  shrink,  but  while  we  defv,  that  we  receive  or  convey 
the  highest  conceptions  of  the  fate.  ve  is  no  sublimity  in  the 
agony  of  terror.  Whether  do  we  trac.  .i  most  in  the  cry  to  the 
mountains,  "fall  on  us,"  and  to  the  hills,  "cover  us^"  or  in  ttie  calm- 
ness of  the  prophecy — "And  though  after  my  akm  wonns  dmtaof 
this  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  I  shall  see  (3od?" 

3.  A  little  reflection  will  easily  convince  any  one,  that  so  far  from 
the  feelings  of  self-preservation  being  necessary  to  the  sublime,  their 
greatest  action  is  totally  destructive  of  it ;  and  that  there  are  few  feel- 
ings less  capable  of  its  perception  than  those  of  a  coward.    But  the 
simple  conception  or  idea  of  greatness  of  suffering  or  extent  of  de- 
struction is  sublime,  whether  there  be  anv  connection  of  that 
with  ourselves  or  not.   If  we  were  placed  beyond  the  readi  ri  ai^ 
peril  or  pain,  the  perception  of  these  agencies  in  their  influence  < 
others  would  not  be  leas  sublime,  not  because  peril  or  pain  are  sa.  • 
lime  in  their  own  nature,  but  because  their  contemplation,  exciting 
compassion  or  fortitude,  elevates  the  mind,  and  renders  meanness 
of  uoQi^t  imposnUe. — Pt.  I.  See.  S,  Ch.  S. 

TRUTH  ALWAYS  ESSENTIAL. 

8.  Nothing  can  atone  for  the  want  of  truth,  not  the  most  brilliant 
imagination,  the  most  playful  fancy,  the  most  pure  feeling,  (suppos- 
ing that  feeling  could  oe  pure  and  false  at  the  same  time;)  not  the 
most  exalted  conception,  nor  tiie  meet  comprehensive  gtasp  of  intel- 
lect, can  make  amends  for  the  want  of  truth,  and  that  for  two  reasons; 
first,  because  falsehood  is  in  itself  revolting  and  degrading;  and  sec- 
ondly, because  nature  is  so  immeasurably  superior  to  all  that  the 
human  mind  can  conceive,  that  every  departure  from  her  is  a  fall 
beneath  her,  so  that  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  an  ornamental 


RBUQIOVS  THOVOBT  IN  ART  8t 

Ji^ellli  JiJ,^^  »«t  be  .  Mot  a.       a.  a  rin.  an  injury 

We  ahall,  in  oonaequence,  find  that  no  artist  can  be  graceful,  im- 
•gnative,  or  original,  unless  he  be  truthful;  aud  that  the  pursuit  of 
fteauty,  instead  of  leading  us  away  from  truth,  increases  the  denn 
forrtandthen«>«B^ofitt«ifoM.-«.//,5«e.2,(7*.i. 

UCmAL  MWSUmjTY  AND  TRtTTH. 

tfcf*.ifeSl!^?i^i"*'     sensibility  may  be  entirely  resolved  into 
tneacatenMs  of  bodily  sense  associated  with  love,  love  I  mean  in  its 
infinite  and  holy  functions  as  it  embraces  divine  and  hnman  and 
toutal  intelhgences,  and  hallows  the  physical  perception  of  external 
objeeti  by  association,  gratitude,  veneration,  and  other  pure  feelings 
of  our  moral  nature.  And  although  the  discovery  of  tmth  is  in  ft- 
■eii  aitogetber  intelleetual,  and  dependent  merely  on  our  powers  of 
pbysical  perception  and  abstract  intellect,  wholly  independent  of  our 
morol  nature,  yet  these  mstruments  (perception  and  judgment)  are 
so  sharpened  and  brightened,  and  so  far  more  swifUy  and  effectively 
used,  when  they  have  tl  >  energy  and  passion  of  oar  moral  nature 
to  bnng  them  into  action  -perception  is  so  quickened  by  love,  and 
judgment  so  tempered  bj  veneration,  that,  practically,  a  man  of 
deadened  moral  sensation  ia  always  dull  in  his  perception  of  truth, 
and  thousands  of  the  hijghest  and  most  divine  truths  of  nature  are 
j*olly  concealed  from  him,  however  constant  and  indefatigable  may 
be  hu  mtellMstaal  Match.— Pfc //,  iSee.  i,      «.  a~'««»y 

VABIETY  IN  NATURE. 

*  ^*  mP'®  ?^  nature  are  one  eternal  change— one  infinite  vari- 
e^.  There  is  no  bush  on  the  face  df  the  globe  exactly  like  another 
bosb;— thereare  no  two  trees  in  the  forest  whose  boughs  bend  into 
tM  same  network,  nor  ^o  leaves  on  the  same  tree  which  could  not 
be  tpid  one  from  the  other,  nor  two  waves  in  the  sea  exactly  alike. 
And  out  of  this  mass  of  various,  yet  agreeing  beauty,  it  is  by  lone 
attention  only  that  the  conception  of  the  constant  character— the 
Ideal  form— hinted  at  by  all,  yet  assumed  by  none,  ia  fixed  upon  the 
imagination  for  its  standard  of  truth.— Pt.  //,  See,  1,  Ch.  9. 

THE  REAL  PORTRAIT  OF  A  MAN — HIS  80UI,. 

8.  That  which  is  truly  and  indeed  characteristic  of  the  man,  is 
toown  only  to  God.  One  portrait  of  a  man  may  possess  exact  accu- 
racy of  feature,  and  no  atom  of  expression ;  it  may  be,  to  use  the  ordi- 
nary terms  of  admiration  bestowed  on  such  poHraits  by  those  whom 
they  please,  "as  like  as  it  can  stare."  Ev.  .,ody,  down  to  his  cat. 
would  know  this.  Another  portrait  may  have  neglected  or  misi«iK 
loented  the  features,  bat  may  have  given  the  fl»&  of  the  eye,  and 


••  THE  BBUaWN  OF  BUSKIN 

the  peculiar  radiance  of  the  lip,  seen  on  him  only  in  hia  hours  of 
highest  mental  excitement  None  b  it  his  friends  would  know  this. 
Another  may  have  given  none  of  his  ordinary  exprearions,  but  one 
which  he  wore  in  the  most  excited  instant  of  his  life,  when  «U  hit 
•eont  purioDs  and  all  his  highest  powen  were  brought  into  play  at 
mice.  Nom  bat  those  wlu>  had  then  seen  bim  might  recognise 
Ihit  as  like.  But  which  would  be  the  most  truthful  portrait  ofthe 
manT  The  first  gives  the  accidents  of  body — the  sport  of  climate, 
and  food,  and  time — which  corruption  inhabits,  and  the  worm  waits 
for.  The  second  gives  the  stamp  of  the  soul  upon  the  flesh ;  but  it  is 
the  soul  seen  in  the  emotions  which  it  shares  with  many — which  may 
not  be  cWacteristic  of  its  essence — the  resalta  of  haUt,  and  edaM^ 
tion,  ana  accident — a  gloze,  whether  purposely  worn  or  unoon- 
aciously  assumed,  perhaps  totally  contrary  to  au  that  is  rooted  and 
Teal  in  the  mind  that  it  conceals.  The  third  has  caught  the  trace  of 
•II  that  was  most  hidden  and  most  mighty,  when  all  hypocrisy,  and 
all  habit,  and  all  petty  and  passing  emotion — the  ice,  and  the  bank, 
and  the  foam  of  the  immortal  river — were  shivered,  and  broken,  and 
swallowed  up  in  the  wakening  of  its  inward  strength;  when  the  call 
and  claim  of  some  divine  motive  had  brought  into  visible  being 
those  latent  forces  and  feelings  wbidi  the  spint's  own  volition  could 
not  summon,  nor  its  oonsdonsness  oompiehend;  which  Qod  only 
knew,  and  God  only  could  awaken,  the  depth  and  the  mystery  of  ita 
peculiar  and  separating  attributes.  And  so  it  is  with  external 
Nature:  she  has  a  body  and  a  soul  like  man;  but  her  soul  is  the 
Deity.  It  is  possible  to  represent  the  body  without  the  spirit;  and 
this  shall  be  like  to  those  whose  senses  are  only  cognizant  of  body. 
It  is  possible  to  represent  the  spirit  in  its  ordinary  and  inferior  mani- 
festations ;  and  this  shall  be  like  to  those  who  have  not  watched  for 
its  moments  of  power.  It  is  possible  to  represent  the  spirit  in  its 
■ecret  and  high  operations:  and  this  shall  be  like  only  to  tiiose  to 
whose  watchine  they  have  been  revealed.  All  these  are  truth ;  but 
according  to  the  dignity  of  the  truths  he  can  represent  or  feel,  is 
the  power  of  the  painter, — the  justice  of  the  judge. — Pt.  11,  See.  1, 
Oh. ». 

ram  paintsb  and  thb  fbxachzr. 

5.  The  teaching  of  nature  is  as  varied  and  infinite  as  it  is  con- 
stant.^ As  well  might  a  preacher  expect  in  one  sermon  to  express  and 
explain  every  divine  trutn  which  can  be  gathered  out  of  God's  revola> 
tion,  as  a  painter  expect  in  one  composition  to  express  and  illus- 
trate every  lesson  which  can  be  received  from  God's  creation.  Both 
are  commentators  on  infinity,  and  the  duty  of  both  is  to  take  for 
each  disc<nirse  one  essential  truth,  seeking  particularly  and  insist- 
ing especially  on  those  which  are  less  palpable  to  ordinary 
observation,  and  more  likely  to  escape  an  indolent  research;  and  to 
im|»ea  that,  and  that  idone,  upon  th(»d  whom  th^  addnaa^ 


BKUQWVa  THOVOHT  IN  ART  gj 

lustre  there  must  SwavTS^^f^i    ^^^^ly-  infinite  of 

If  tW4m  «booM,  .  gJS  ft  ^T'JSjl 

thSff  nte?:^^^  if 
ous  or  powerless  imUation  of  othermen^i  l^iS^ti^^lJ^'S.'^^- 
of  mere  manual  dexterity  or  curioS  SMilSS:  JI S  J*  '  ^}^'^ 
mode  it  show  itself  as  having  ii^^xSA^i^^^'ZS^ 
matters  not  what  powers  of  min«l  Jn?!,  i,  ^?"*y»--CMt  it  out  It 
rupted  in  it.  lUl  hav^lJ^  ihSrii?*^  ?*?''®        concerned  or  coiw 

THE  SKIES  CREATED  F(«  IfAH 

the  sky^*  \tST^r>^^J^^?  in  Beneral"people  know  aboat 
for  the^sake  of  pleaSS  ma^^  i«  TJ'"^  ^one  mo^ 

of  talking  to  Wm  ^d  teSJK  flf  ^''^  "^'^  «nd  evident  pur 
and  it  i.,^  the  i»S  in  Sip  l?«  f  Y  ^ 

fcene  after  3cene,  pictuS^irfter  K'S:?^^^^  Pr^^^ng 
mg  still  upon  such  exquisite  and 


t4  TBE  RSUOIOS  or  RV8K1N 

riww,  almott  ipiritaal  in  its  tenderness,  almost  diviae  in  its  infinity, 
iti  wpptal  to  wnat  is  immortal  in  us,  is  is  distinct,  as  its  ministry  of 
du^sement  or  of  blesring  to  what  is  mortal  is  s— ntial.— Pt.  //, 
8*c.  $,  Ch.  1. 

LOOKING  THBOVQH  THE  SKY. 

1.  The  sky  is  thought  of  as  a  clear,  high  material  dome,  tha 
doudu  as  separate  bodies,  suspended  benMth  it,  and  in  oonaaqaenoa, 
however  dehcate  and  exquisitely  removed  in  tone  their  skies  may  be 
you  always  look  at  them,  not  through  them.  Now,  if  there  be  one 
characteristic  of  the  sky  more  valuable  or  necessary  to  be  rendered 
than  another,  it  is  that  which  Wordairorth  haa  giTn  in  the  •eomd 
book  of  the  Excursion : — 

*Tk«  ckMB  «f  iky  absvc  my  head 
I«  HeaTtn'i  profoandeit  uure.    No  domain 
For  Rfklt,  ibort-Uvcd  clonda,  to  occupy, 
Or  to  pan  tbrouith; — but  rather  an  »bp$» 
Id  which  the  PverlastioK  atars  abide, 
And  wboM  aoft  gloom  and  botmdlew  depth,  mifht  tempt 
Tb*  cnrkma  aya  to  look  for  tham  by  day." 

And,  in  his  American  Notes,  I  remember  Dickens  notices  the  same 
truth,  describing  himself  as  lying  drowsily  on  the  barge  deck,  look- 
ing BXA  at,  bat  through  tlM  sky.— Pt.  //,  Sec.  S,  Ch.  1. 

TTOim'a  "avKBiiB  ok  ths  aXiPS." 

38.  Wait  yet  for  one  hour,  until  the  east  again  becomes  purple 
and  the  heaving  mountaias,  rolling  against  it  in  darkness,  like  waves 
of  a  wild  sea,  are  drowned  one  by  one  in  the  glory  of  its  burning; 
watch  the  white  glaciers  blaze  in  their  winding  path?  about  the 
mountains,  like  mighty  serpents  with  scales  of  fire ;  watch  the  colum- 
nar peaks  of  solitaiy  snow^  kindling  downwards,  chasm  by  chasm, 
each  in  itself  a  new  mommg;  their  long  avalanches  east  down  in 
keen  streams  brighter  than  the  lightning,  sending  each  his  tribute 
of  driven  snow,  like  altarsmoke,  up  to  the  heaven ;  the  rose-light  of 
their  silent  domes  flushing  that  heaven  about  them  and  above  them, 
piercing  with  purer  light  through  its  purple  lines  of  lifted  cloud, 
casting  a  new  ^ory  on  every  wreath  as  it  passes  by,  until  the  whole 
heaven — one  scarlet  canopy, — is  interwoven  with  a  roof  of  waving 
flame,  and  tossing,  vault  oeyond  vault,  as  with  the  drifted  wings  of 
many  companies  of  angels ;  and  then,  when  yoa  can  look  no  more  for 
gladness,  and  when  you  are  bowed  down  with  fear  and  love  of  die 
Maker  and  Doer  of  this,  tell  me  who  has  beat  ddivend  this  His  mes- 
sage unto  men  I — Pt.  II,  See.  S,  Ch.  1. 

THE  flPIBIT  OP  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

3.  Mountains  are,  to  the  rest  of  the  body  of  the  earth,  what  vio- 
Imt  muscular  action  is  to  the  body  of  man.  The  muscles  and  t«»- 


nSUOlOVS  TBOVOBT  IN  ART  tj 

dons  of  ita  anatomj  ar^  in  the  monntain,  Imraglit  oat  with  flow 

•nd  convulsive  energr  ftUl  of  expression,  passion,  and  strength;  the 
plains  and  the  lowerbilU  a»  the  repose  and  the  effortless  motion  of 
UM  inm^  when  its  muscles  he  dormant  and  concealed  beneah  the 
Unea  of  its  beauty,  yet  ruling  those  lines  in  their  every  undulation, 
ihis,  then,  is  the  first  grand  principle  of  the  truth  of  the  earth. 
The  spirit  of  the  hills  is  action ;  that  of  the  lowlanda,  npoM:  and  be- 
tween these  there  is  to  be  found  every  variety  of  motion  and  of  rat: 

.♦TJ?  t   ♦i.""!;  "'^  P^T'  Jjke  the  firmament,  with  citi*^  for 

stare,  to  the  hery  peaks,  which,  with  heaving  and  exultina 

lift  up  thdr  Titan  hands  to  Heaven,  saying,  •  ,  ;  .  owerV'^^ 

MOUNTAirS  AND  MEN. 

I'.u^"*,*^®,'^  ."  difference  between  the  action  of  the  earth, 
and  that  of  a  living  creature,  that  while  the  exerted  limb  marks  ita 
bones  and  tendons  through  the  flesh,  the  excited  earth  casts  off  tho 
flesh  altogether,  and  its  bones  come  out  from  beneath.  Mountains 
are  the  bones  of  the  earth  their  highest  pealu  are  invariably  those 
f^f^  il^  anatomy  which  m  the  phun.  lie  baried  under  five  and 
twenty  thousand  feet  of  sokd  thickness  of  superincumbent  soil,  and 
which  spnng  up  m  the  mountain  ranges  in  vast  pyramids  or  w^ges 
2!1£?^/ 4r'i^"™t"n  °'  earth  away  from  them  on  each  side.  TTie 
/  if    ,  and  against  their  sides,  like  the 

1    /fi  "fT^^^  ^Sainst  the  skeleton  areh  of  an  unfinished 
n™P*  that  thev  slope  up  to  and  lean  against  the  oential  hd«: 
and  finally,  upon  the  sloper  f  these  lower  hills  are  sti«wed  the  kSl 
tK.hJ,^S''*^''*Jii.      '^^'^'^y'  ^hich  form  the  extenfof 
if Ifih      f^k  ■  g"^'^  principle  of  the  truth 

?  n      ".i^n^^D"  must  come  from  under  all,  and  be  the 
Si^S^l.  '  e^e^thing  also  must  be  laid  in  their  arms, 

heap  above  heap,  t;-^  plain?  lemg  the  uppermost.  Opposed  to  m 
truth  Ls  <  V  ry  appea  u^ce  of  the  hills  I  ng  laid  upon  the  plains  or 
built  urK„  hem.  N.r  is  this  a  truth  only  of  the  earth  on  a  largo 
e^e'T.n^inor  rock  (in  position)  comes  out  from  the^ 
about  It  as  an  island  out  of  the  sea,  lifting  the  earth  near  it  like  wama 
beatmg  on  its  «dee.-P<.  //,  See.  4,  c£,T  ^ 

OOD  DEMANDS  GREAT  THIVOS  OV  COtlAT  MOM. 

15.  The  man  who,  in  the  most  oonapicuous  part  of  his  fore- 
wound^  win  violate  truth  with  every  stroke^^of  the  iSncil,  L  not  Ukt 

P^^*«  «^       -  To  bandit 

ue  orosli  freely,  and  to  paint  grass  and  weeds  with  accuracy  enouah 

^SvImym^^}Stoix^^on^         "  ^^^^ 
t«ie»  of  invartion'and  comlHnS?,1>y  wESnSfai^^ 


86  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

intellect — to  render  the  delicate  fissure,  and  descending  curve,  and 
undulating  shadow  of  the  mouldering  soil,  with  gentle  and  fine  fin- 
ger, like  the  touch  of  rain  itself — to  find  even  in  all  that  appears 
most  trfling  or  contemptible,  fresh  evidence  of  the  constant  working 
of  the  Jivine  power  "for  glory  and  for  beauty,"  and  to  teach  it  and 
proclaim  it  to  the  unthinking  and  the  unregardless — this,  as  it  is  the 
peculiar  province  and  faculty  of  the  master-mind,  so  it  is  the  peculiar 
duty  whidi  is  demanded  of  it  by  the  Deity. — PL  II,  See.  4,  Ch.  ^ 

GREAT  MINDS  \f\^v.  SMALL  THINGS  GREAT. 

28-30.  Greatness  of  mind  is  not  shown  by  admitting  small 
things,  but  by  making  small  things  great  under  its  infiuence.  He 
who  can  take  no  interest  in  what  is  small,  will  take  false  interest  in 
what  is  great;  he  who  cannot  make  a  bank  sublime,  will  make  a 
mountain  ridiculous.    .    .  . 

One  lesson,  however,  we  are  invariably  taught  by  all,  however 
approached  or  viewed — that  the  work  of  the  Great  Spirit  of  nature 
is  as  deep  and  unapproachable  in  the  lowest  as  in  the  noblest  ob- 
jects— ^that  the  Divine  mind  is  as  visible  in  its  full  energy  of  opera- 
tion on  every  lowly  bank  and  mouldering  stone,  as  in  the  lifting 
of  the  pillars  of  heaven,  and  settling  the  foundation  of  the  earth ;  and 
that  to  the  rightly  perceiving  mind,  there  is  the  same  infinity,  the 
same  majesty,  the  same  power,  the  same  unity,  and  the  same  perfec- 
tion, manif^  in  the  casting  of  the  clay  as  in  the  scattering  of  the 
cloud,  in  the  mouldering  of  the  dust  aa  in  the  kindling  of  the  day- 
gtai.—Pi.  II,  See.  4,  Ch.  I 

turner's  message  of  divine  truth. 

8.  From  the  beginning  to  the  present  height  of  his  career,  he  has 
never  sacrificed  a  greater  truth  to  a  less.  As  he  advanced,  the  pre- 
vious knowledge  or  attainment  was  absorbed  in  what  succeeded,  or 
abandoned  only  if  incompatible,  and  never  abandoned  without  a 
gain;  and  his  present  worxs  present  the  sum  and  perfection  of  his 
accumulated  knowledge,  delivered  with  the  impatience  and  passion  of 
one  who  feels  too  much,  and  knows  too  much,  and  has  too  little  time 
to  say  it  in,  to  pause  for  expression,  or  ponder  over  his  syllables. 
There  is  in  them  the  obscurity,  but  the  truth,  of  prophecy;  the  in- 
stinctive and  burning  language,  which  would  express  less  if_  it 
uttered  more,  which  is  indistinct  only  by  its  fulness,  and  dark  with 
its  abundant  meaning.  He  feels  now,  with  long-trained  vividresa 
and  keenness  of  sense,  too  bitterly  the  impotence  of  the  hand,  and  the 
Tainness  of  the  color  to  catch  one  shadow  or  one  image  of  the  glory 
which  God  has  revealed  to  him.  He  has  dwelt  and  communed  with 
nature  all  the  days  of  his  life;  Ya  knows  her  now  too  well,  he  cannot 
palter  over  the  material  littlenflss  of  her  outward  form ;  he  must  give 
MrnoLwhthafdoiMiiothing,  and  hteannot  do  this  with  the  flax. 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  87 

and  the  earth,  and  the  oil.  "I  cannot  gather  the  Bunbeanw  out  of  the 
east,  or  I  would  make  them  tell  you  what  I  have  seen ;  but  read  this, 
Md  interpret  this,  and  let  us  remember  together.  I  cannot  gathw 
ttie  gloom  out  of  the  night  tky,  or  I  would  make  that  teach  you  wbtit 
1  have  seen:  but  read  this,  and  interpret  this,  and  let  us  feel  together. 
And  if  you  have  not  that  within  you  which  I  can  summon  to  my  aid. 
If  you  have  not  the  sun  in  vour  spirit,  and  the  passion  in  your  heart, 
wlucli  my  words  may  awaken,  though  they  be  indistinct  and  swift, 
leave  me;  for  I  will  give  you  no  patient  mockery,  no  laborious  insult 
of  that  glonous  nature,  whose  I  am  and  whom  I  serve.  Let  other 
servants  imitate  the  voice  and  the  gesture  of  their  master,  while  they 
forget  his  message.  Hear  that  message  from  me;  but  remember, 
that  the  teaching  of  Divme  trutt  must  stQl  be  a  mystery."— P<  II 
See.  6,  Ch.  S.  j     j         -  *, 

THE  FINGEH  OF  GOD  IN  NATT7BB:— TO  TOmrO  AKTISTS. 

20-21.  Their  duty  is  neither  to  choose,  nor  compose,  nor  imagine, 
nor  expenmentalue:  but  to  be  humble  and  earnest  in  following  the 
Btepa  of  nature,  and  tracing  the  finger  of  God.  Nothing  is  so  bad  a 
pmptom,  in  the  work  of  young  artists,  as  too  much  dexterity  of 
nandling;  for  it  is  a  sign  that  they  are  satisfied  with  their  work,  and 
Have  tned  to  do  nothing  more  than  they  were  able  to  do.  Their 
work  should  be  full  of  failures;  fw  these  are  the  signs  of  eflbrts. 
iney  should  keep  to  quiet  colors— grays  and  browns;  and,  making 
ttM  ejriy  works  of  Turner  their  example,  as  his  latest  are  to  be  their 
Object  of  emulation,  should  go  to  nature  in  all  singleness  of  heart, 
«pd  vnXk  with  her  laboriously  and  trustingly,  having  no  other 
thoughts  but  how  best  to  penetrate  her  meaning,  and  remember  her 
instruction  rejecting  nothing,  selecting  nothing,  and  scorning 
nothing;  believing  all  things  to  be  right  and  good,  and  rejoicing  aC 
ways  m  the  truth.  Then,  when  their  memories  are  stored,  and  their 
imaginations  fed,  and  their  hands  firm,  let  them  take  up  the  scarlet 
and  the  gold,  give  the  rem?  to  their  fancy  and  show  us  what  their 
hei^  are  made  of.  We  will  follow  them  wherever  they  choose  to 
lead;  we  will  check  at  nothing;  they  are  then  our  mastere,  and  are  fit 
to  be  so.  They  have  placed  themselves  above  our  criticism,  and  we 
will  listen  to  their  words  in  all  faith  and  hnmility;  but  not  imkm 
they  themselves  have  before  bowed,  in  the  wme  aubmianon.  to  a 
higjier  Autboiity  tnd  Muter.— Pf.  //,  See.  6,  Oh.  S. 


II 


MODERN  PAINTERS. 
Vol,.  II.  (1846.) 

Part  m.  Or  Idbas  of  Beauty. 

Flart  m.  Sect.  1.  Or  the  Thbobetio  Faci7I.tt— 15  Chaps. 
Bart  UL  Sect.  2.  Or  the  IicAonrATioN— 5  Chaps. 

This  is  a  continuance  of  Vol.  I.  It  is  of  great  value  as  a  further 
study  of  certain  principles  in  art,  and  it  is,  perhaps,  of  equal  value 
to  the  art  student  and  the  religious  teacher.  In  his  preface  to  the 
third  volume  the  author  says: 

"The  first  and  second  volumes  were  written  to  check,  as  far  as  I 
could,  the  attacks  upon  Turner  which  prevented  the  public  from 
honoring  his  genius,  at  the  time  when  his  poww  was  greatest.  The 
check  was  partially  given,  but  too  late;  Turner  was  seized  by  pain 
ful  illness  not  long  after  the  second  volume  appeared;  his  works, 
towards  the  doie  of  the  year  1845,  showH  a  coadvmn  failure  of 
power;  and  I  saw  that  nothing  remained  for  me  to  write,  but  his 
epitaph.   .   .  . 

It  is  an  idea  too  freqamfly  entertained,  by  persons  who  are  not 
much  interested  in  art,  that  there  are  no  laws  of  right  or  wrong  con- 
ceming  it;  and  that  the  best  art  is  that  which  pleases  most  widely. 
Hence  the  constant  allegation  of  "dogmatism"  against  any  one  who 
states  unhesitatingly  either  preference  or  principle,  respecting  pic- 
tures. There  are,  however,  laws  of  truth  and  right  in  painting,  just 
as  fixed  as  those  of  harmony  in  music,  or  of  a£Binity  in  chemii^. 
Those  laws  are  perfectly  asoertainahle  by  labor,  and  aarwtainabla 
no  other  way." 

An  able  English  writer  on  ibt  sodal  aspects  of  Ruskin's  woik 
remarks  that:  "The  religious  tone  of  his  art-treatment  in  'Modem 
Painters'  is  not  due  to  a  general  orthodox  recognition  of  the  divine 
supremacy  in  fhe  order  the  world,  still  less  is  H  to  be  regarded 
as  a  literary  expression  of  youthful  piety.  It  is  the  first  deliberate 
and  philosophic  statement  of  that  doctrine  of  theocratic  government 


REUGI0U8  THOVOBT  IN  ART  89 

-of  nature  and  of  human  life,  which  remained  a  fixed  principle 
in  all  his  work.  .  .  .  There  is  indeed,  a  stem  enthusiasm  in  his 
«arly  statement  of  this  creed,  which  bears  the  marks  of  his  early 
Calvinist  ancestry,  and  sometimes  reminds  us  of  that  famous  Scot, 
tish  document,  the  Shorter  Catechism.  .  .  .  The  theology  of  the 
second  volume  of  'Modem  Painters'  is  one  among  many  indica- 
tions of  a  ripening  moral  and  religious  fervour  at  this  period  of 
his  life.  The  theology  of  Barrow  and  Hooker,  the  glowing  pie^ 
of  George  Herbert,  laid  hold  of  his  mind  and  spirit,  ...  and  a 
period  of  intense  devotion  .  .  .  fastened  upon  him  an  abiding 
sense  of  the  truth  that  moral  character  is  the  root  of  art.*** 

The  selections  which  follow  include  some  of  those  lofty  and 
powerful  descriptions  of  masterpieces  of  religious  art,  which  sug. 
gests  the  question,— which  is  greater :— the  oil  painting  of  tiie  aitiat 
— Turner,  or  the  word  painting  of  Buskin? 


WITNESSES  FOB  OOD. 

^u-'*"*^!*"'*  ^  function  (and  let  him  who  will  not  grant  me 
tins  follow  me  no  farther;  for  this  I  propose  always  to  assume)  is 
to  be  the  witness  of  the  glory  of  God,  and  to  advance  that  glory  by 
his  reasonable  obedience  and  resultant  happiness.  Whatever  en- 
ables us  to  fulfil  this  function,  is  in  the  pure  and  first  sense  of  the 
word  useful  to  us.  Pre-eminenUy,  therefore,  whatever  sets  the  glory 
of  God  more  bnghtlv  before  ua.  But  things  that  only  help  us  to 
«ust,  axe  in  a  secondary  and  mean  sense,  useful,  or  rather,  if  they 
De  looked  for  alone,  they  are  useless  and  worse,  for  it  would  be 
better  that  we  should  not  exist,  than  that  we  should  guiltily  dkn- 
pomt  the  purposes  of  existence.— P*.  ///,  See.  1,  Ch.  1. 

NATIONS  FORGET  GOD  IN  THE  MIDST  OF  PLENTY. 

7.  Deep  though  the  causes  of  thankfulness  must  be  to  emy 
people  at  peace  with  others  and  at  unity  in  itself,  there  an  caoMS 
of  fear  also,  a  fear  greater  than  of  sword  and  sedition ;  that  depend- 
ence on  God  may  be  forgotten  because  the  bread  is  given  and  the 
water  is  sure,  that  gratitude  to  him  may  cease  because  his  con- 
stancy of  protection  has  taken  the  semblance  of  a  natural  law  that 
heavenly  hope  may  grow  faint  amidst  the  full  fruition  of  the  world, 
that  selfishness  may  take  place  of  undemanded  devotion,  compassion 
be  lost  in  vam-glorv,  and  love  in  dissimulation,"  that  enervation  may 
succeed  to  strength,  apathy  to  patience,  and  the  noise  of  jerting 

»  Vc»i»  AmI^  BocM  tetwrmmr,"  J.  A. 


90  THE  BELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

words  and  foulness  of  dark  thoughts,  to  the  earnest  parity  of  the 
girded  loins  and  the  burning  lamp.  About  the  river  of  human 
Bfe  there  is  a  wintry  wind,  though  a  heavenly  sunshine;  the  iris 
colors  its  agitation,  the  frost  fixes  upon  its  repose.  Let  us  beware  thai 
our  rest  become  not  the  rest  of  stones,  which  so  long  as  they  are 
tMtent-tosaed  and  thunder-stricken,  maintain  tiieir  majesty,  but  when 
the  stream  is  silent,  and  the  storm  passed,  suffer  the  grass  to  cover 
them  and  the  lichen  to  feed  on  them,  and  are  ploughed  down  into 
dust 

THE  SALT  OF  NATIONS. 

1.  And  though  I  believe  that  we  have  salt  enough  of  ardent  and 
lioly  mind  amongst  us  to  keep  us  in  some  measure  from  this  moral 
decay,  yet  the  signs  of  it  must  be  watched  with  anxiety,  in  all  mat- 
ter however  trivial,  in  all  directions  however  distant.  And  at  this 
time,  when  the  iron  roads  are  tearing  up  the  surface  of  Europe,  as 
grape-shot  do  the  sea,  when  their  great  sagene  is  drawing  and  twitch- 
ing the  ancient  frame  and  strength  of  England  together,  contract- 
ing all  ite  various  life,  its  rocky  arms  and  rural  heart,  into  a  nap- 
TOW,  finite,  calculating  metropolis  of  manufactures,  when  there  is 
net  a  monument  throughout  the  cities  of  Europe,  that  speaks  of  old 
years  and  mighty  people,  but  it  is  being  swept  away  to  build  cafes 
and  gaming-houses;  when  the  honor  of  God  is  thought  to  consist 
in  the  ^  overty  of  His  temple,  and  the  column  is  shortened,  and  the 
pinnacle  shattered,  the  color  denied  to  the  casement,  and  the  marble 
to  the  altar,  while  exchequers  are  exhausted  in  luxury  of  boudoirs, 
and  pride  of  reception-rooms;  when  we  ravage  without  a  pause  all 
the  loveliness  of  creation  which  God  in  giving  pronounced  good,  and 
destroy  without  a  thought  all  those  labors  which  men  have  given 
their  lives,  and  their  sons'  sons'  lives  to  complete,  and  have  left  for 
a  legacy  to  all  their  kind,  a  legacy  of  more  than  their  hearts'  blood, 
for  it  is  of  their  souls'  travail,  there  is  need,  bitter  need,  to  bring 
rack,  if  we  may,  into  men's  minds,  that  to  live  is  nothing,  unless  to 
live  be  to  know  Him  by  whom  we  live,  and  that  he  is  not  to  be 
known  by  marring  his  fair  works,  and  blotting  out  the  evidence 
of  his  influences  upon  his  creatures,  not  amid  the  hurry  of  crowds 
and  crash  of  innovation,  but  in  solitary  places,  and  out  of  the  glow- 
ing intelligences  which  he  gave  to  men  of  old.  He  did  not  teach  them 
how  to  build  for  glory  and  for  beauty,  he  did  not  give  them  the 
fearless,  faithful,  inherited  energira  that  worked  on  and  down  from 
^th  to  death,  generation  after  generation,  that  we,  foul  and  sen- 
«al  as  we  are,  might  give  the  carved  work  of  their  poured-out  spirit 
to  the  axe  and  the  hammer;  .  .  .  nor  clothed  the  crass  onlv  for 
the  OTen.-P*. ///,  5eo.  J,  C*.  i.  ' 


BEUmOVS  THOVOHT  IN  ART  91 

TBI  HXaHIR  ICnOiTBY  OV  8CIBNCB. 

^  8.  The  common  consent  of  men  proves  and  accepts  the  propo* 
ntion,  that  whatever  part  of  any  parsait  ministers  to  tM  bodily  com- 
forts,  and  admits  of  material  uses,  is  ignoble,  and  whatsoever  part 
IS  addressed  to  the  mind  only,  is  noble;  and  that  geology  does  better 
m  reclothing  dry  bones  and  revealing  lost  creations,  than  in  tracing 
veins  of  lead  and  beds  of  'ron;  astronomy  better  in  opening  to  us 
the  houses  of  heaven  than  in  teaching  navigation;  botany  better 
in  displaying  structure  than  in  expressmg  juices;  surgery  better  in 
investigating  organization  than  in  setting  limbs;  only  it  is  ordained 
that,  for  our  encouragement,  every  step  we  vf  . '  e  in  the  more  exalted 
range  of  science  adds  scciethins  also  to  its  i^ractical  applicabilities; 
uiat  all  the  great  phenomena  of  nature,  the  knowledge  of  which  is 
desired  by  the  angels  only,  by  us  partly,  as  H  reveals  to  farther  vision 
the  being  -nd  the  glory  of  Him  in  whor.  (hey  rejoice  and  we  live, 
dispense  jret  such  kind  influences  and  so  much  of  material  blessing 
as  to  be  joyfully  felt  by  all  inferior  creatures,  and  to  be  desired  by 
them  with  such  single  desire  as  the  imperfection  of  their  nstore 
may  admit;  that  the  strong  torrents  wh)ch,  in  their  own  gladness 
fill  the  hills  with  hollow  thunder  and  the  vales  with  winding  light, 
have  yet  their  bounden  charge  of  fiel.l  to  feed  and  barge  to  b^' 
that  the  fierce  flames  to  which  the  Alp  ow&«  its  upheaval  and  the 
volcano  its  terror,  teoiper  for  us  the  metal  vein  and  quickening 
spring;  and  that  for  our  inciteTirciit,  I  say  not  our  reward,  for  know^ 
edge  IS  its  own  reward,  herbs  have  their  healing,  stones  their  pre- 
ciousnesB,  and  stars  their  times.— P*.  ///,  See.  1,  Ch.  1. 

THE  MVINB  IN  EVERY  HUMAN  ATTBIBVra. 

6.  In  whatever  5s  an  object  of  life,  in  whatever  may  be  infinitely 
and  for  itself  desirec',  we  may  be  sure  there  is  something  of  divine, 
lor  God  will  not  make  anything  an  object  of  life  to  Mi  ereatores 
which  does  not  point  to,  or  panake  of.  Himself.  And  so,  though 
we  were  to  regard  the  pleasures  of  sight  merely  as  the  highest  of 
sensual  pleasurr  s,  and  though  thev  were  of  rare  occurrence,  and, 
when  occurring,  isolateu  and  imperfect,  there  wtmld  still  be  a  super- 
natural character  about  them,  owing  to  their  permanenoe  and  self- 
sufiiciency,  where  no  other  sensual  pleasures  are  perraai>.«nit  or  self- 
s^cient.  But  when,  instead  of  being  scattered,  'envpted,  or 
<mance-distribated,  they  are  gathered  toj;  •  ther,  an  am  nge-1  to 
enhance  each  other  as  by  chance  they  could  not  be,  .acre  is  caused 
by  them  not  only  a  feeling  of  strong  afifection  towards  the  object 
in  which  they  exist,  but  a  perception  of  purpose  and  adaptation  of  it 
to  our  desires;  a  perception,  therefore,  of  the  immediate  operation 
of  the  Intelligenca  which  so  formed  us,  and  so  feeds  us. 

Out  of  which  perc^tion  arise  ;oy,  admiration,  and  gratitude. 

Nov  the  maie  anunal  consciousnei  of  the  pleasantness  I  call 


9a  THE  RELIGION  OF  BUSKIN 

■sUiesis;  but  the  exulting  reverent,  and  grateful  perception  of  it 
I  call  theona.  For  this,  and  thia  only,  is  the  fuU  comDrSabnan^ 
contemplation  of  the  beautiful  aa  a  gh  ot  oS^  ^SS^not^^^ 
to  our  Umg,  but  added  to,  and  elevating  it,  an/twrfSd  fl^ 
the  desire,  and  secondly  of  the  thing  desired  ^  ™  " 

ILLUSTRATIONS  FROM  THE  BIBLE. 

*u  ^'  tJifs  joyfulness  and  reverence  are  a  necessarv  nart  of 

e^Sfhter  "  ^''y  ^1^^?*        ^«  ^^'^^i^^'  that  bylh^Trin 

*n^!n*thf  Q*"*^  ^^  by^^ection,  as  the  spikenard  of  Mary, 

and  th«f°nf  Solomon,  the  myrrh  upon  tL  handles  of^e 
;n^7i,!f  1  *  °*  I?aac  concerning  his  son.  And  the  general  law  for 
all  these  pleasures  is,  that  when  sought  in  the  abstract  and  arientlv 

^LTJi^f^^^^'''  l"''^'^  ^^t^  thankfulness  and  with 
reference  to  God's  glory,  they  become  theoretic;  and  so  I  can  fed 
something  divine  in  the  sweetness  of  wild  fruite,  as  well  a^  fnX 
fclTJ^  ^v^nd  the  tenderness  of  its  nat^^ 

fames  that  come  and  go  as  they  list— «.  ///,  See.  J,  Ch. 

THE  SENSE  OP  BEAUTY  CENTERED  IN  THE  HEART. 

8.  As  it  is  necessary  to  the  existence  of  an  idea  of  beautv  that 

the  sensual  pWe  wfiioh  may  be  its  basis,  shouIdX  ocSanM 

tne^^^rX7l^f^'^''^'\^'lfy  ^"^^  thankfSness^nd 
veneration  towards  that  Intelligence  itself,  and  as  no  idea  can  be  at 

f  wfl  T'^^V""?:       more  than  we  can  be  said  to  have  an  iTa  o? 
a  letter  of  which  we  perceive  the  perfume  and  the  fair  writing 
without  undeptandmg  the  contents  of  it,  or  intent  of  it;  and  aTtffi 

tZ  r  f^Ti"l  "~  obtainable  by,  any  opeS^ 

tion  of  the  intellect,  it  is  evident  that  tho  sensation  of  beauty  is 
not  sensual  on  the  one  hand,  nor  is  it  intellectual  on  the  other  bul 

Hs  WSd  ft!.*  r^;"^5*'  °P^^  °f  heart?  both 
TctU^  nf  ^c  W  i/'  ,^°*«°«'ty'  insomuch  that  even  the  right  afte^ 
action  of  the  intellect  upon  facts  of  beauty  so  apprehended  SaZ 
pendent  on  the  acuteness  of  the  heart  feeling  aboSt  them -Vnd  thiS 
he  Apostohc  words  come  true,  in  this  minor  respect  m  S  aKhen 
ha  men  are  alienated  from  the  life  of  God,  Sugh  the  fgnoS 
&ei''<i  ffir^w'i?  «'«r«'«"!«"ding  darkene^d  becaSonh; 

b«*rts»  and  so  being  past  feeling,  give  themselvea 

Sf^^if  "Tl°"™f '  ^^'^^  ^"•^^^^  see  constancy  that  meThl^ 
ing^naturaJly  acute  perceptions  of  the  beautiful,  jit^^SiX 
it  with  a  pure  heart,  nor  into  their  hearts  at  aU,  nWer^raPrehend 
It,  nor  receive  good  from  it,  but  make  tt  •  miie  mK?Ke^ 


BELIQ10V8  THOUGHT  IN  ART  93 

9MiiM,  and  accompaniment  and  seasoning  of  lower  sensual  pleas* 
ures,  until  all  their  emotions  take  the  same  earthly  stamp,  and  the 
sense  of  beauty  ainlcs  into  the  servant  of  lust.— P<.      See,  1,  Ch.  2. 

THE  PtntE  IN  HEABT  SEES  ODD., 

10.  The  Christian  theoria  seeks  not,  though  it  accepts,  and 
touches  with  its  own  purity,  what  the  Epicurean  sought,  but  finds 
its  food  and  the  objects  of  its  love  everywnere,  in  what  is  harsh  and 
fearful,  as  well  as  what  is  kmd,  nay,  even  in  all  that  seems  coarse 
and  commonplace;  seizing  that  which  is  good,  and  delighting  more 
eometimes  at  finding  its  table  spread  in  strange  places,  and  in  the 
presence  of  its  enemies,  and  its  honey  coming  out  of  the  rock,  than 
if  all  were  harmonized  int.*  a  less  wondrous  pleasure,  hating  only 
what  is  self-sighted  and  insolent  of  men's  work,  despising  all  that 
is  not  of  God,  unlest,  reminding  it  of  God,  yet  able  to  find  evidence 
of  him  still,  where  all  seems  forgetful  of  him,  and  to  turn  that  into 
a  witness  of  his  working  which  was  meant  to  obscure  it,  and  so  with 
clear  and  unoffended  sight  beholding  him  forever,  according  to 
the  written  promise, — Llessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  mi*11 
see  God.— P«.  ///,  Sec.  1,  Ch.  2.  •»  / 

POWER  OP  CHOICE. 

2.  Though  Wk  ♦'an  neither  at  once  choose  whether  we  shall  see 
an  object,  red,  green,  or  blue,  nor  determine  to  like  the  red  better 
than  the  blue,  or  the  blue  better  than  the  red,  yet  we 
can,  if  we  choose,  make  ourselves  ultimately  susceptil  ^e  of  such 
impressions  in  other  degrees,  and  capable  of  pleasures  in  them  in 
different  measure;  and  because,  wherever  power  of  any  kind  is 
given,  there  is  responsibilitv  attached,  it  is  the  duty  of  men  0 
prefer  certain  impressions  of  sense  to  others,  because  they  have  tae 
power  of  doing  so,  this  being  precisely  analogous  to  the  law  of  the 
moral  world,  whereby  men  are  supposed  not  only  capable  of  gov- 
erning thei»  likes  and  dislikes,  but  the  whole  culpability  or  pro- 
priety of  actions  is  dq>endent  upr^n  this  capability,  so  that  men  are 
guilty  or  otherwise,  not  for  what  they  do,  but  for  what  they  desire, 
the  command  being  not,  thou  shalt  obey,  but  thou  shalt  love,  the 
Lord  thy  God,  which,  if  men  were  not  capable  of  governing  and 
directing  their  affections,  would  be  the  eommrad  m  an  impovi- 
biUty.— «.  ///,  Sec,  1,  Ch.  S. 


PATIENCE  AND  MORAI,  TABTE. 

10.  The  temper  by  which  right  taste  is  formed  is,  first,  patient. 
It  dwells  upon  what  is  submitted  to  it,  it  does  not  trample  upon 

it  lest  it  should  be  pearls,  even  though  it  loo^  like  husks,  it  is  a 
good  ground,  soft,  pen  ;,r8kble,  retentive,  it  does  not  send  up  thorns 


9*  TBS  RSLIOION  OF  BV8KIN 

^'^»n!?^i5°u^  n'  lu''^5^«  it "  hungry  and  thirsty 

too^and  dnnks  all  the  dew  that  falls  on  it,  it  ia  in  honwt^ 

^'a   *  'S?       afterwards;  it  is  distrustful  of  itself,  so  aa  to  be 

that  It  will  neither  quit  what  it  has  tried,  nor  take  anything  with- 
out  trying.  And  that  pleasure  which  it  has  in  thLS  tSt  ft  finds 

^v'tnvi^^*^-'  V°  «^«t  t>«t  it  <r°ot  possiblTft  led  aside  S 
any  tncks  of  fashion,  nor  diseases  of  vanity,  it  cinnot  be  cramped 
Si  aht?^i"f  ^'^  by  partiaUties  and  hypocHsies,  its  visions  and'^S 
Stt„r/*°***P?°*^™*^.«'  'Whitewashed  object 

ZSZ^J^I^^V'^^'K^^  o""  «"PPly-  It  clasps  all  that  it 

1?   tJ*    '  crushes  it  if  it  be  hollow. 

♦„„ii  •  uT'  conclusions  of  this  disposition  are  sure  to  be  even- 
tually nght,  more  and  more  right  according  to  the  general  maturity 
of  all  the  powers,  but  it  is  sure  to  come  right  at  last,  because  ito 
operation  is  in  analogy  to,  and  in  harmony  with,  the  whole  spirit 
of  the  Christian  moral  system,  and  that  which  it  will  ultimately 
wve  and  rest  in,  are  great  sources  of  happiness  common  to  all  the 

w'/rir^'      nff^o  °°      idatkMM  they  hold  to  thrir  GhMtoB. 

TBUB  AND  FALSE  TASTES. 

-  J:^"  IV'^  can  perceive  .beauty  in  everything  of  God's  doing,  we  may 
Wgue  that  we  have  reached  the  true  perception  of  its  universal  laws. 
Hence,  false  taste  may  be  known  by  its  fastidiousness,  by  its  de- 
mands  of  pomp,  splendor,  and  unusual  combination,  by  its  enjov- 
ment  only  of  particular  styles  and  modes  of  things,  and  W  its  pHde 
SmltllS  ta1.  ™«^*"ig..  mending,  accumulating,  and  self, 

ffhl  rtS  "  lll^y"  "P<"»  itself,  and  it  tests  all  things  around 

It  by  the  way  they  fit  it.  But  tnie  taste  is  forever  growing,  learning, 

!T^?c^' J  ilPP"*?;  'T"^  hand  upon  its  mouth  because  it  is 
astonished,  casting  its  shoes  from  off  its  feet  because  it  finds  aU 
ground  holy,  lamenting  over  itself  and  testing  itself  by  the  way 
that  It  fits  things.— Pf.  Ill,  Sec.  1,  Ch.  3.  ^ 

HIGHEST  PLEASURES  OXLY  THROUGH  DIFFICULTIES. 

14.  Had  it  been  ordained  by  the  Almighty  that  the  hisfaeet 
pleasures  of  sight  should  be  those  of  most  dSSlt  attaSmeS^SSd 
™?ini  f"""*  ^*  '^""^^^  ^  necessary  to  accumulate  gilded 

Itfna2d  ?ri7r  P««  artificial  mountains  around  in- 

tS  n^lftSf"^'?*'®  «1  ha^e  been  a  direct  contradiction  between 
iSf  J^^***^'???-  "'^  inherent  desires  of  every  individual.  But 
Si^  V^^  '^r       «y«t«™  «f  divine  Providence, 

to  ivS^J  tw"^     Ti^  *°  ^i"'     «««tures  in  probati(« 

to  abuse  this  sense  like  every  other,  and  pamper  it  with  MlfishT^ 


RELIGIOUS  THOUOHT  IN  ART  9$ 

thoufl^tleH  vanitiM  m  ws  pamper  the  palate  with  deadly  meata, 
until  the  iq>peti(e  of  tastefiu  cruelty  is  loet  in  ita  sickened  satiety, 
incapable  of  pleasure  unless,  Caligula  like,  it  concentrate  the  labor 
of  a  million  of  lives  into  the  sensation  of  an  hour,  leaves  it  also 
open  to  us,  by  humble  and  loving  ways,  to  make  ourselves  sus- 
ceptible of  deep  delight  from  the  meanest  objects  of  creation,  and 
of  a  delight  which  shall  not  separate  us  from  our  fellows,  nor  re- 
quire the  sacrifioe  of  any  duty  or  oocupatkm,  but  which  shall  bind 
us  doeer  to  men  and  to  God,  and  be  with  na  always,  harmonized 
with  every  action,  consistent  with  afanr  daim.  nwpwnging 
•temaL— K  ///,  Sec.  1,  Ch.  S.  *  * 

FBOOBBSS  IN  PUEITY  OUR  TBUE8T  PLEASVBB. 

If.  Between  youth  and  age  there  will  be  found  differences  of 
seeking,  which  are  not  wrong,  nor  of  false  choice  in  either,  but  of 
different  temperament,  the  youth  sjrmpathizing  more  with  the  glad- 
ness, fulness,  and  magnifioence  of  things,  and  the  gray  hairs  with 
their  completion,  sufficiency,  and  repose.  And  so,  neither  condemn- 
ing the  delights  of  others,  nor  altogether  distrustful  of  our  own, 
we  must  advance,  as  we  live  on,  from  what  is  brilliant  to  what  is 
pure,  and  from  what  is  promised  to  what  is  fulfilled,  and  from 
what  is  our  strength  to  what  is  our  erown,  only  observing  in  all 
things  how  that  which  is  indeed  wrong,  and  to  be  cut  up  from  the 
root,  is  dislike,  and  not  affection.  For  by  the  very  nature  of  these 
beautiful  qualities,  which  I  have  defined  to  be  the  signature  of 
God  upon  his  works,  it  is  evident  that  in  whatever  we  altogether 
dislike,  we  see  not  all;  that  the  keenness  of  our  vision  b  to  be 
tested  by  the  expansiveness  of  our  love,  and  that  as  far  as  the  influ- 
ence of  association  has  voice  in  the  question,  though  it  is  indeed 
possible  that  the  inevitable  painfulness  of  an  object,  for  which  wa 
can  render  no  sufficient  reason,  may  be  owing  to  its  recaUing  of  « 
Borrow,  it  is  more  probably  depenmit  on  ita  Twrnfttkm  of  a  crima. 
—ft.  Ill,  See.  1,  Ch.  4. 


INFIKITT  or  BPAOIL 

5.  There  is  one  thing  .  .  .  which  no  other  object  of  sight 
suggests  in  equal  degree,  and  that  is,— Infinity.  It  is  of  all  visible 
things  the  least  material,  the  least  finite,  the  farthest  wiUidrawn 
from  the  earth  prison-house,  the  most  typical  of  ^e  nature  of  Ood, 
the  most  suggestive  of  the  gjory  of  His  dwelling-place.  For  the 
sky  of  night,  though  we  may  know  it  boundless,  is  dark,  it  is  a 
studded  vault,  a  roof  that  seems  to  shut  us  in  and  down,  but  the 
bright  distance  has  no  limit,  we  feel  its  infinity,  aa  we  t^mm  m 
its  purity  of  light.— P<.  ///,  See.  J,  Ch.  6. 


9«  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

UrnNITY  OV  OOD. 

19.  Farther  expreMioni  of  inanity  tim*  an  in  the  mTiterr  of 
nature,  and  in  'om»mmm  in  herVMtnen,  but  thSe  .3epLd- 
ent  on  our  own  imperfections,  and  therefore,  though  they  p  Suce 
•oUimity,  they  are  unconnected  with  beautv.  For  that  wfcch  iJJ 
foohshly  call  vartnew  is,  rightly  considered!,  not  more  ^SerfS! 
not  more  impressive  than  that  which  we  insolently  call  littleness 
and  the  mfimtv  of  God  is  not  mvsterious,  it  is  onljr  unfathomaffi 
not  concealed,  but  incomprehensible,  it  is  a  clear  infinity,  the  daik^ 
ness  of  the  pure  unsearchable  8ea.~«.  ///,  See.  1,  Ch.  6, 

UNITY  AND  COMPSmNUTINBS  0»  G<M>. 

1.  That  Unity  which  consists  not  in  his  own  singleness  or  separa- 
tion,  but  in  the  necessity  of  his  inherence  in  all  things  that  be.  with- 
out  which  no  creature  of  any  kind  could  hold  existence  for  a  mo- 
ment. Which  necessity  of  Divine  essence  I  think  it  better  to  sneak  of 

comprehensiveness,  than  as  unity,  because  unity  is  often  ^er- 
oneness  or  singleness,  instead  of  universality, 
whereas  the  only  Unity  which  by  anv  means  can  become  grateful 
OT  an  object  of  hope  to  men,  and  whose  types  therefore  in  mate- 
nal  things  can  be  beautiful,  is  that  on  which  turned  the  last  words 
and  preyer  of  Chnst  before  his  crossing  of  the  Kidron  brook. 

Neithe/  pray  I  for  these  alone,  but  for  them  also  which  shall  be- 
heye  on  nie  through  their  word.  That  they  all  may  be  one,  as  thou. 
Father,  art  in  me,  and  I  in  thee."--«.  ///,  See.  1,  Ch.  6. 

STBBNQTH  AND  UNITY  IN  ALL  THINOe. 

2.  rniere  i'^  not  any  matter,  nor  any  spirit,  nor  any  creature, 
bat  It  fa  capa  le  of  an  unity  of  some  kind  with  other  creatures. 

4I"  uu  "  Its  perfection  and  theirs,  and  a  pleasure  als(i 

for  the  beholding  of  all  other  creatures  that  can  behold.  So  the 
unity  of  spirits  is  partly  in  their  sympathy,  and  partly  in  their 
giving  and  taking,  and  always  in  their  love;  and  these  ara  their 
delight  and  their  stren^,  for  their  strength  is  in  their  co-work- 
ing and  army  fellowship,  and  their  delight  is  in  the  giving  and 
rrw"!?  alternate  and  peroctual  currents  of  good,  their  insep- 
Mable  dependency  on  each  other's  being,  and  their  essential  and 
perfect  depending  on  their  Creator's:  and  so  the  unity  of  earthly 
creatures  is  their  power  and  their  peace,  not  like  the  dead  and  cold 
peace  of  undisturbed  stones  and  solitary  mountains,  but  the  livinir 
peace  of  trust,  and  the  living  power  of  support,  of  hands  that  hold 
each  other  and  are  still:  and  so  the  unity  of  matter  is  in  its  noblest 
fonn,,the  organization  of  it  whidi  builds  it  up  into  temples  for 
the  spint^  and  in  its  lower  form,  the  sweet  and  strange  affinitv  which 
gives  to  It  the  glory  of  its  orderly  elements,  and  the  fair  variety 


RELIGIOUS  THOVOHT  IN  ART  97 

of  change  and  assimilation  that  turns  the  dust  into  the  crystal,  and 
separates  the  waters  that  be  above  the  firmament  from  the  waters  that 
be  beneath,  and  in  iti  lowest  form;  it  ii  the  working  and  walkins 
and  clinging  together  that  gives  their  power  to  the  winds,  and  ita 
syllaTles  and  soundinga  to  the  air,  and  their  weight  to  the  waves, 
and  their  burning  to  the  sunbeams,  and  their  stabuity  to  the  moun- 
tains,  and  to  every  creature  whatsoever  operation  it  ft»  iti  donr 
and  for  others'  good.— P*.  ///,  See.  J,  Ch.  6, 

SPnUTUAL  CUTTY. 

3.  In  spiritnal  creatures  it  k  their  own  constant  building  up 
by  true  knowledge  and  continuous  reasoning  to  higher  perfection, 
and  the  singleness  and  straightforwardness  of  their  tendencies  to 
more  complete  communion  with  God.  And  there  is  the  unity  of 
membership,  which  we  may  call  essential  unity,  which  is  the  unity 
of  things  separately  imperfect  into  a  perfect  whole,  and  this  is  the 
gnat  unity  of  whidi  other  unities  are  bat  {Murts  and  means,  it  is  in 
matter  the  harmony  of  sounds  and  consistency  of  bodies,  and  among 
q>iritaal  creatures,  their  love  and  happiness  and  very  life  in  God. — 
«.  ///,  5w.  1,  Oh.0. 

REST — A  8IQX  AND  A  QIPT. 

1.  As  opposed  to  pa^ion,  changefulness,  or  laborious  exer^ 
tion,  repose  is  the  especial  and  separating  characteristic  of  the  etw^ 
nal  mind  and  power;  it  is  the  "I  am"  of  the  Creator  opposed  to 
the  "I  become"  of  all  creatures ;  it  is  the  sign  alike  of  the  supreme 
knowledge  which  is  incapable  of  surprise,  the  supreme  power  which 
is  incapable  of  labor,  the  supreme  volition  which  is  incapable  of 
change;  it  is  the  stillness  01  the  beams  of  the  eternal  chambers 
laid  upon  the  variable  waters  of  ministering  creatures:  and  as  w« 
saw  before  that  the  infinity  which  was  a  ^rpe  odT  the  Divine  nature 
on  the  one  hand,  became  yet  more  desirable  on  the  other  from  its 
peculiar  address  to  our  prison  hopes,  and  to  the  expectations  of  an 
unsatisfied  and  unaccomplished  existence,  so  the  types  of  this  third 
attribute  of  the  Deity  might  seem  to  have  been  rendered  farther 
attractive  to  mortal  instinct,  through  the  infliction  upon  the  fallen 
creature  of  a  curse  necessitating  self  having  too  much  of  change* 
fulness  for  his  purpose,  is  spoken  of  as  one  "that  beareth  not  ue 
loud  winds  when  tney_  call,  and  moveth  altogether,  if  it  move  at 
all."  And  again  of  children,  which,  that  it  may  remove  from  them 
the  child  restlessness,  the  ima|B;ination  conceives  as  rooted  flowers 
"Beneath  an  old  gray  oak,  as  violets,  lie."  On  the  other  hand,  the 
scattered  rocks,  which  have  not,  as  such,  vitalitv  enough  for  rest, 
are  gifted  with  it  by  the  living  image:  they  "lie  oammti  aioaiia 
OS  like  a  flodc  of  sheep."— P<.  Ill,  See.  1,  Ch.  7. 


9*  TBE  REUQION  OF  aUOON 

nuuwnr — rm  of  Diviint  jvsticb. 
1.  The  fourth  constituent  of  beauty  (symmetry).  In  all  m*. 
fectly  beautiful  objects,  there  i.,  foun/  tie  oppiSi  of  eS  £S 
to  another  and  a  reciprocal  balance  obtained  .  andwL^S 
the  meanest  things  the  rule  holds,  as  in  tSr^a  eido;X  whlS 
SS^SS^^h"  £f "     f""*"  accidentol  mere?;  by  theS 

SSSi^TL'^'^  opiK«,tion;  which  orderly  bafanw  Ind 
•rnngenMnt  are  ewential  to  the  perfect  operation  of  the  more 
nert  and  solemn  qualities  of  the  beautifi^  as  beinVheaveSv^ 

?n"'««"?&K""^  T'''''^  L«       violence 'and  SgSSoJ  S 
sm,  so  that  the  seeking  of  them  and  submission  tettSaTlSwrn^ 

rvmr—Av  kssknce  of  light  and  a  typb  of  thb  divixe. 

f Jon  Jf\T^4  that  I  have  not  in  my  enumera- 

«^niw?®        o?vP"^*>«  attriButes,  included  that  which  if  S!^ 

SSb^^Ct'  P\T\^,'^  "n"s^*'  ^"'^  Him  is  1m 
URTKnesB  ai  ail.   But  I  could  not  logically  class  the  nranonoA  nt  -« 

actual  substance  or  motion  with  mere  conditionTand  mJS  o7liin^ 
^v^^Zr""^^  ^  logically  separate  from  any  jf  S«?S2S  ^Mch  £ 
evidentW  necessary  to  the  perception  of  all  Aal^k  k  ajir^kf 
observed  that  though  the  love  of  light  U  more^?^nrtive  in  thJ 

iToT.  ^f'^J/^'"  thefesi^s^TnJSd  i^^ih  Wuty^ 

we  caa  hardly  aepart^te  its  agreeableness  in  -ts  own  naturTfrnm 
tl  sense  of  its  necessity  and  value  for  the  purpo^f  h7?^eiffSi 
the  abstract  painfulness  of  darkness  from  tEeS  of  dan«?  Ini 
incapacity  connected  with  it;  and  note  als^thSTis  not XliS^ 
?nfin,lfl*r'T"^  *^"  Vniver.al  qualities  of  b^auV  diffu^K 
infinite  rather  than  m  points,  tranquil,  not  starUintt  W  variaH^ 
pure,  not  sullied  or  oppressed,  whilh  s  indeS^^iiSt  ^r^^ 
fectly  typical  of  the  Divine  nature.- -ft.  7//?^.  ifSC  pf^  ^ 

BEAUTY  IX  NATURE— AN  EXPRESSION  OF  THE  Dm»«. 

upon  matteTfnr'nL°^  ^1"'''  *°  ^  considered  as  .tamped 

upon  matter  for  our  teaching  or  enjovment  onlv  h-u  n<3  tho 

Se'sSTh?'  -^^^  ^^^oJolG^'sZli.^^  a'nd'tK 
eviiaoie  stamp  of  his  image  on  what  he  creates    For  it  wnnM  iL 

SaTS^fn  a^n^i'"'"^^  ^wo^Jk  impeXurn^^^ 

?afr  trJeV  a^7kSf 'v^'""^^^^  ^^at  floJen,  anj 

♦lllL  -  J  u  ,  /l"^'^  skies,  are  given  only  where  man  niav  se« 

in„i  •  ^  '^t"**      *o      covering  all  lonely  places  iJdth  an 

same  pencil  and  oStpouring  the  BBrnT^lS- 
dor.  u  the  caves  of  the  waten  where  the  «»inake8  swim,  and  Ke 


BEU010V8  THOVQHT  IN  ART  99 

datwt  when  th«  uAjn  danoe,  among  the  flr-tnet  of  Um  itawk,  and 
the  rocka  of  the  conies,  ai  among  those  hi^ur  cmtow  whoaa  Iw 
has  made  capable  witnesses  of  his  working. 

8.  Nevertheless,  I  think  that  the  admi  sion  of  different  degreea 
of  this  glory  and  ima^  of  himself  upon  creation,  hv>  the  Iomc  of 
amnethins  meant  especially  for  us;  for  althoudi,  in  puijuance  of  tha 
•ppointadfajntam  (tf  gorvanunant  by  univanal  lawi,  these  same  da> 
giMS  tsbt  whm  wa  cannot  witneas  them,  yet  the  existence  of  de- 
grasa  at  all  seems  at  first  unlikely  in  Divine  work,  and  I  cannot 
see  veason  for  H  unless  that  palpable  one  of  increasing  in  us  the 
nndantanding  of  the  sacred  characters  by  showing  us  tM  iMolli  of 
their  comparative  absence.— P<.  ///,  See.  1,  Ch.  J  J. 

OBORilES  OF  PEBFECTIOK  FOB  MAH'l  gAXI. 

4.  The  fact  of  our  deriving  constant  pleasure  from  whatever  is  a 
type  or  semblance  of  Divine  attributes,  and  from  nothing  but  tb<i* 
which  is  BO,  is  the  most  glorious  of  all  that  can  be  demonstrated  0. 
human  natare;  it  not  only  sets  a  great  gulf  of  specific  separation 
batwaan  us  and  the  lower  animals,  but  it  seems  a  promise  of  a 
coumninion  ultimately  deep,  close,  and  conscious,  with  the  Being 
whose  darkened  manifestations  we  here  feebly  and  unthinkinelv 
delight  in.  Probablv  to  every  order  of  intelligence  more  of  hu 
image  becomes  palpable  in  all  around  them,  and  the  glorified  spirits 
and  the  angels  have  perceptions  as  much  more  full  and  n^ytoroaa 
than  onxB,  as  onis  than  those  of  beasts  and  creeping  things  And 
Teceiving  it.  aa  we  must,  for  an  universal  axiom  that  "no  natural 
desire  can  be  entirely  frustrate,"  and  seeing  that  these  desires  are 
indeed  so  unfailing  m  us  that  they  have  escaped  not  the  reasoners 
of  any_  time,  but  were  held  uiv'ne  of  old,  and  in  even  heathen  coun- 
tries, it  cannot  be  but  that  •i  .are  is  in  these  visionary  pleasures, 
lightly  as  we  now  regard  them,  cause  for  thankfulness,  ground  for 
hope,  anchor  for  faith,  more  than  in  all  the  oUier  manifold  gift! 
and  guidances,  wherewith  God  crowns  the  yean,  and  hedflta  tho 
patha  of  moL^-Pt.  7/7,  See.  1,  Ch.  11. 

LOVB  AND  VITAI,  BEAUTY. 

3.  Its  first  perfection  relating  to  vital  beantv,  is  fha  Idndnen 
ad  unselfish  fulness  of  heart,  which  receives  the  utmost  amount 
of  pleasure  from  the  happiness  of  all  things.  Of  which  in  hi^ 
degree  the  heart  of  man  is  incapable,  neither  what  intense  enjoy- 
ment the  angels  may  have  in  all  that  they  see  of  things  Uiat  move 
and  live,  and  in  the  part  they  take  in  the  shedding  of  Ood'a  kioi* 
ness  upon  them,  can  we  know  or  conceive :  only  in  proportion  ao  t-  c 
draw  near  to  uod,  and  aze  made  in  measure  like  unto  him,  -i^n 
we  inowaae  this  our  poaseesion  of  charity,  of  which  the  entii  %• 
aoioe  is  in  God  only.  Wherefore  it  is  evident  that  even  the  oidi^  ury 


loo  TPE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

exercise  of  this  faculty  implies  a  condition  of  the  whole  moral  beinir 
in  some  measure  right  and  healthy,  and  that  to  the  entire  exe^ 
cise  of  It  there  is  necessary  the  entire  perfection  of  the  Ghristian 
character,  for  he  who  loves  not  God,  nor  his  brother,  cannot  love  the 
Mass  beneath  his  feet  and  the  creatures  that  fill  those  spaces  in 
the  universe  which  he  needs  not,  and  which  live  not  for  his  uses- 
nay,  he  has  seldom  grace  to  be  grateful  even  to  those  that  love  him 
and  serve  him,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  none  can  love  God  nor  his 
human  brother  without  loving  all  things  which  his  Father  loves, 
nor  without  looking  upon  them  every  one  as  in  that  respect  his 
brethren  also,  and  perhaps  worthier  than  he,  if  in  the  under  con- 
cords they  have  to  fill,  their  part  is  touched  more  truly.— P*.  ///. 
o«c.  1,  Ch.  IS. 

god's  providence  in  all  obganic  nature. 

•*  \  1^^^^    vS*  any.  organic  creature,  but  in  its  history  and  habits 
It  snaU  exemplify  or  illustrate  to  us  some  moral  excellence  or  defi- 
ciency or  some  point  of  God's  providential  government,  which  it  is 
necessary  for  us  to  know.  Thus  the  functions  and  the  fates  of  ani- 
mals are  distributed  to  them,  with  a  variety  which  exhibits  ix> 
us  the  dignity  and  results  of  almost  every  passion  and  kind  of  con- 
duct, some  filthy  and  slothful,  pining  and  unhappy;  some  rapacious, 
restless,  and  cruel;  some  ever  earnest  and  laborious,  and,  f  think, 
unhappy  in  their  endless  labor,  creatures,  like  the  bee,  that  heap 
UD  nches  and  cannot  tell  who  shall  gather  them,  and  others  em- 
ployed like  angels  in  endless  offices  of  love  and  praise.   Of  which 
when,  in  nght  condition  of  mind,  we  esteem  those  most  beautiful 
whose  functions  are  the  most  noble,  whether  as  some,  m  mere  en- 
ergy, or  as  others,  in  moral  honor,  lo  that  we  look  with  hate  on  the 
foulness  of  the  sloth,  and  the  subtlety  of  the  adder,  and  the  rag© 
of  the  hyena:  with  the  honor  due  to  their  earthly  wisdom  we  invMt 
the  earnest  ant  and  unwearied  bee;  but  we  look  with  full  percep- 
tion of  sacred  function  to  the  tribes  of  burning  plumage  and  choral 
voice.   And  so  what  lesson  we  might  receive  for  our  earthly  con- 
duct from  the  creeping  and  laborious  things,  was  taught  us  by  that 
earthly  king  who  made  silver  to  be  in  Jerusalem  as  stones  (yet 
thereafter  was  less  rich  towards  God).    But  from  the  lips  of  an 
heavenly  King,  who  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head,  we  were  taught 
what  lesson  we  have  to  learn  from  those  higher  creatures  who  sow 
not,  nor  reap,  nor  mther  into  bams,  for  their  Heavenly  BWtW 
feedeth  them.— ttl,  See.  1,  Ch.  19.  ' 

MORAL  JUDGMENT  THE  STANDARD  OP  BEAUTY. 

12.  L<X)king  to  the  whole  kingdom  of  organic  nature,  we  find 
that  our  full  receiving  of  its  beauty  depends  first  on  the  sensibility 
and  then  on  the  accuracy  and  touchstone  faithfulness  of  the  heart 


RELIGIOUS  THOVOHT  IN  ART  loi 

in  its  moral  judgments,  so  that  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  not 
only  love  all  creatures  well,  but  esteem  them  in  that  order  which 
is  according  to  God's  laws  and  not  according  to  our  own  human 
passions  and  predilections,  not  looking  for  swiftness,  and  strength, 
and  cunnine,  rather  than  for  patience  and  kindness,  still  less  de- 
lighting in  their  animosity  and  cruelty  one  towards  another  .  .  . 
so  that  in  all  cases  we  are  to  beware  of  such  opinions  as  seem  in  any 
w^  referable  to  human  pride,  or  even  to  the  grateful  or  pernicious 
influence  of  things  upon  ourselves,  and  to  cast  the  mind  free,  and 
out  of  ourselves,  humbly,  and  yet  always  in  that  noble  position  of 
pause  above  the  other  visible  creatures,  nearer  God  than  they,  which 
we  authoritatively  hold,  thence  looking  down  upon  them,  and  test- 
ing the  clearness  of  our  moral  vision  by  the  extent,  and  fulness, 
and  constancy  of  our  pleasure  in  the  light  of  God's  love  as  it  em- 
braces them,  and  the  harmony  of  his  holy  laws,  that  forever  bring 
mercy  ooi  of  npine,  and  ieUgi<ni  out  of  wiath.— P(.  ///,  8«c.  1, 
Ch.  IS. 

BVSRY  CREATURE  OF  ODD  18  OOOD. 

1.^  In  the  first  or  sympathetic  operation  of  the  theoretic  faculty, 
it  will  be  remembered,  we  receive  pleasure  from  the  signs  of  mere 
happiness  in  living  things.  In  the  second  theoretic  operation  of 
comparing  and  judging,  we  constituted  ourselves  such  judges  of  the 
lower  creatures  as  Adam  ynm  made  by  God  when  they  were  brought 
to  him  to  be  named,  and  we  allowed  of  beauty  in  them  as  they 
reached,  more  or  less,  to  that  standard  of  moral  perfection  by  which 
we  test  ourselves.  But,  in  the  third  place,  we  are  to  come  down 
again  from  the  judgment  seat,  and  taking  it  for  granted  that  every 
creature  of  God  is  in  some  way  good,  and  has  a  duty  and  specific 
operation  providentially  accessory  to  the  well-bein?  oi  all,  we  are 
to  look  in  this  faith  to  that  employment  and  nature  of  each,  and 
to  derive  pleasure  from  their  entire  perfection  and  fitness  for  the 
duty  they  have  to  do,  and  in  their  entire  fulfilment  of  it:  and  so 
we  are  to  take  pleasoie  and  find  beauty  in  the  magnificent  bind- 
ing together  of  the  jaws  of  the  ichthyosaurus  for  catching  and  hold- 
ing, and  in  the  adaptation  of  the  lion  for  springing,  and  of  the 
locust  for  destroying,  and  of  the  lark  for  singing,  and  in  every 
creature  for  the  doing  of  that  which  God  has  made  it  to  do.  Which 
faithful  pleasure  in  the  perception  of  the  perfect  operation  of  lower 
creatures  I  have  placed  last  among  the  perfections  of  the  theoretic 
faculty  concerning  them,  because  it  is  commonlv  last  acquired,  both 
owing  to  the  humbleness  and  trustfulness  of  heart  which  it  de- 
mands, and  because  it  implies  a  knowledge  of  the  habits  and  stmo* 
ture  of  every  creature,  such  as  we  can  but  fanperfeetiv 
Pt.  Ill  See.  1,  Ch.  IS.  F~»««y 


IM  THE  REUGION  OF  RV8K1N 

HORAXi  DIVUBUTr  OF  MANKIND. 

1.  Having  passed  gradually  through  all  the  order«  and  Mda 
of  creation,  and  traversed  that  goodly  line  of  God's  happy  enstures 
who   leap  not,  but  express  a  feast,  where  all  the  gueste  sit  close, 
and  nothing  wants,"  without  finding  any  deficiency  which  human 
invention  might  supply,  nor  any  harm  which  human  interference 
nuglit  mend,  we  come  at  last  to  set  ourselves  face  to  face  with  our- 
Belves,  expecting  that  in  creatures  made  after  the  image  of  God  we 
are  to  hnd  comehness  and  completion  more  exquisite  than  in  the 
fowls  of  the  air  and  the  things  that  pass  through  the  paths  of  the 
eea.   But  behold  a  sudden  change  from  all  former  experience.  No 
longer  amor  g  the  individuals  of  the  race  is  there  equality  or  likeness, 
a  distributed  fairness  and  fixed  type  visible  in  each,  but  evil  divert 
sity,  and  temble  stomp  of  various  degradation;  features  seamed  with 
ncjmeas,  dimmed  by  sensuality,  convulsed  by  passion,  pinched  bv 
poverty,  -nadowed  by  sorrow,  branded  with  remorse;  bodies  con- 
Bumed  with  sloth,  broken  down  by  labor,  tortured  by  disease,  dis- 
honored m  foul  uses;  intellects  without  power,  hearts  without  hope, 
minds  earthly  and  devilish;  our  bones  full  of  the  sin  of  our  youth 
the  heaven  revealing  our  iniauity,  the  earth  rising  up  against  us 
the  roots  dried  up  beneath,  and  the  branch  cut  oflf  above;  well  fr .  us 
only,  if,  after  beholding  this  our  natural  face  in  a  glass,  we  desir 
not  straightway  to  foiget  what  maimer  of  men  w«  ht^Pi.  HI,  Set. 

1,  Lin,  J^. 

liOVB  AND  FAITH  ABOVE  BEA80N. 

_  5  The  operation  of  the  right  moral  feelings  on  the  intellect 
18  always  for  the  good  of  the  latter,  for  it  is  not  possible  tiiat  selfish- 
nras  should  reason  nghtly  in  any  respect,  but  must  be  blind  in  its 
esUmation  of  the  worthiness  of  all  things,  neither  anger,  for  that 
overpowers  the  reason  or  outcries  it,  neither  sensuality,  for  that 
overgrows  and  chokes  it,  neither  agitation,  for  that  has  no  time  to 
compare  tiling  together,  neither  enmity,  for  that  must  be  unjust, 
neither  fear  for  that  exaggerates  all  things,  neither  cunning  and 
deceit,  for  that  which  is  voluntarily  untrue  will  soon  be  unwit- 
tingly so:  but  the  great  reasoners  are  self-command,  and  trust  un- 
stated, and  daep-looking  Love,  and  Faith,  which  as  she  is  above 
Keaaon,  so  she  best  holds  the  reins  of  it  from  her  high  seat:  so  that 
^f^i^  grossly  who  .hink  of  the  right  development  even  of  the 
mteUectuai  type  as  coss'ble,  unless  we  look  to  hi^^er  sources  of 
omaj  onL-~.pt.  Ill,  See  1,  Ok.  14. 

8OUI,  CULTTTKl!  AND  BODHY  BBAXnY. 

7.  There  is  a  certain  period  of  the  soul  culture  when  it  begins 
to  interfere  with  some  of  the  characters  of  typical  beauty  belonging 
to  the  bodily  frame,  the  stirring  <rf  the  intdleet  wearing  down  tl» 


RELIOIOUS  THOUOHT  IN  ART  toj 

flesh,  and  the  moral  enthusiasm  burning  its  way  out  to  heaven, 
through  the  emaciation  of  the  earthen  vessel ;  and  that  there  is,  in 
this  indication  of  subduing  of  the  mortal  by  the  immortal  part,  an 
ideal  glo^  of  perhaps  a  purer  and  higher  range  than  that  of  tiie 
more  perfect  material  form.  "We  conceive,  I  think,  more  nobly  of 
the  weak  presence  of  Paul,  than  of  the  fair  and  ruddy  countenance 
of  DtgmL—Pt.  Ill,  See.  1,  Ch.  14- 

KXTBCT  OF  UFB  HXB8  UPON  THS  BODY  IN  HKAVSN. 

10.  David,  ruddy  and  of  fair  countenance,  with  the  brook  stone 
of  deliverence  in  his  hand,  is  not  more  ideal  than  David  leaning  on 
the  old  age  of  Barzillai,  returning  chastened  to  his  kingly  home. 
And  they  who  are  as  the  angels  of  God  in  heaven,  yet  cannot  be  con- 
ceived as  eo  assimilated  that  their  different  experiences  and  affec- 
tions upon  earth  shall  then  be  for^tten  and  effectless:  the  child 
tt^en  early  to  his  place  cannot  be  imagined  to  wear  there  such  a 
body,  nor  to  have  such  thoughts,  as  the  glorified  apostle  who  has 
finished  his  course,  and  kept  the  faith  on  earth.  And  so  what- 
ever perfections  and  likeness  of  love  we  may  attribute  to  either  the 
tried  or  the  crowned  creatures,  there  is  the  difference  of  the  stars 
in  glory  among  them  yet;  differences  of  original  gifts,  though  not 
of  occupying  till  their  Lord  come,  different  dispensations  of  trial 
and  of  trust,  of  sorrow  and  support,  both  in  their  own  inward,  vari- 
able hearts,  and  in  their  positions  of  exposure  or  of  peace,  of  the 
gourd  shadow  and  the  smiting  sun,  of  calling  at  heat  of  day  or 
eleventh  hour,  of  the  house  unroofed  by  faith,  and  the  clouds 
opened  by  revelation:  differences  in  warning,  in  mercies,  in  sick- 
nesses, in  signs,  in  time  of  calling  to  account ;  like  only  they  all  are 
by  that  which  is  not  of  them,  but  the  gift  of  God's  unchangeable 
mexcy.  "I  will  give  a?to  thii  last  even  ai  nnto  thee."— Pt.  ///, 
See.  1,  Ch.  14. 

■FfBOT  OW  THB  tALL  UPON  THB  VII TURK  BODY. 

11.  Be  it  observed,  that  what  we  must  determinedly  banish  from 
the  human  form  and  countenanco  in  our  seeking  of  its  ideal,  is  not 
everjrthing  which  can  be  ultimately  traced  to  the  Adamite  fall  for 
its  cause,  but  only  the  immediate  operation  and  presence  of  the 
degrading  power  of  sin.  For  there  is  not  any  part  of  our  feeling 
of  nature,  nor  can  there  be  throudi  etemitv,  which  shall  not  be 
in  some  way  influenced  and  affected  by  the  ful,  and  that  not  in  anjjr 
way  of  degradation,  for  the  renewing  in  the  divinity  of  Christ  is 
a  nobler  condition  than  ever  that  of  raradise,  and  yet  throughout 
eternity  is  must  imply  and  refer  to  the  disobedience,  and  the  cor- 
rupt state  of  sin  and  death,  and  the  suffering  of  Christ  himself, 
which  can  we  conceive  of  any  redeemed  soul  as  for  an  instant  for- 
getting, or  as  remembering  without  sorrow?  Neither  are  the  alter- 


S04  THE  BEUOION  OF  RVSKIN 

nations  of  joy  and  such  sorrow  as  by  us  is  inconceivable,  being  only 
aa  It  were  a  softness  and  silence  in  the  pulse  of  an  infinite  felicity, 
inconsistent  with  the  state  even  of  the  unfallen,  for  the  angels  who 
rejoice  over  repentance  cannot  but  feel  an  uncomprehended  pain 
as  they  try  and  try  again  in  vain,  whether  they  may  not  warm 
hard  hearts  with  the  brooding  of  their  kind  wingi.— P«.  ///,  See.  1, 

BUT  WILL  SEE  SIN  AND  PUBITY  WILL  SEE  ITSELF. 

16  17.  The  right  ideal  is  to  be  reached  only  by  the  banishment 
Of  the  immediate  signs  of  sin  upon  the  countena.  ce  and  body. 
How,  therefore,  are  the  signs  of  sin  to  be  known  and  separated? 

JMO  intellectual  operation  is  here  of  any  avail.   There  is  not  any 
reasoning  by  which  the  evidences  of  depravity  are  to  be  traced  in 
niovements  of  muscle  or  forms  of  feature;  there  is  not  any  knowl- 
edge, nor  experience,  nor  diligence  of  comparison  that  can  be  of 
avail.   Here,  as  throughout  the  operation  of  the  theoretic  faculty, 
the  perception  M  altogether  moral,  an  instinctive  love  and  clinging 
to  the  lines  of  light.   Nothing  but  love  can  reac  ,1ie  letters,  noth- 
ing but  sympathy  catch  the  sound,  there  is  no  pure  passion  that  can 
be  underetood  or  painted  except  by  pureness  of  heart;  the  foul  or 
blun  feeling  will  see  usclf  in  everj-thing,  and  set  down  blasphemies; 
It  will  see  Beelzebub  in  the  casting  out  of  devils,  it  will  find  its  god 
of  tlies  m  every  alabaster  box  of  precious  ointment.   The  indiima- 
tion  of  zeal  towards  God  (nemesis)  it  wiU  take  for  anger  agwnst 
man,  faith  and  veneration  it  wiU  miss  of,  as  not  comprehending, 
clianty  it  wiU  turn  into  lust,  compassion  into  pride,  every  virtue 
It  will  go  oyer  against,  like  Shimei,  casting  dust.    But  the  right 
Christian  mind  will  in  like  manner  find  its  own  image  wherever  it 
It  wil  seek  for  what  it  loves,  and  draw  it  out  of  all  dens  and 
caves,  and  it  will  believe  m  its  being,  often  when  it  cannot  see  it. 
and  always  turn  away  its  eyes  from  beholding  vanity:  and  so  it  will 
he  lovingly  over  alf  the  faults  and  rough  places  of  the  hurZ 
Heart  as  the  snow  from  heaven  does  over  the  hard,  and  black 
and  broken  mountain  rocks,  following  their  forms  truly,  and  yet 
catching  light  for  them  to  make  them  fair,  and  that  must  be  i! 
steep  and  unkindly  crag  indeed  which  it  cannot  cover. 

18  Now  of  this  spirit  there  will  always  be  little  enough  in  the 
world,  and  it  cannot  be  given  nor  taught  by  men,  and  so  it  is  of 
little  use  to  insist  on  It  farther,  only  I  may  note  some  practical 
pomts  respecting  the  ideal  treatment  of  human  form,  which  may  be 
fi^'^'^'^u  I'^  thoughtless  days.  There  is  not  the  face,  I  have 
f^Kfiiw' 1-  l^^lK  ^^l  "'^^^  i<*eal  if  he  choose,  but  that 
subtile  feeling  which  shall  find  out  all  of  good  that  there  is  in  any 
given  countenance  IS  not,  except  by  concern  for  other  things  than 
SS'iSl;  u  ilf'^uT^:  ^"t  .certain  broad  indications  of  evil  there 
are  winch  the  bluntest  feeling  may  perceive,  and  which  the  habit 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  105 

of  distinguishing  and  casting  out  of  would  both  ennoble  the  schools 
of  art,  and  lead  in  time  to  greater  acuteness  of  percepti<m  wi^ 
apect  to  the  less  explicable  characten  of  soul  beiiuity. 

PRIDE  DESTHUCTm:  OF  BEAUTY. 

19.  Those  signs  of  evil  which  are  commonly  most  manifest  on 
the  human  features  are  roughly  divisible  into  these  four  kinds,  the 
signs  of  pride,  of  sensualitv,  of  fear,  and  of  cruelty.  Any  one  of 
which  will  destroy  the  ideal  character  of  the  countenance  and  body. 

The  first,  pride,  is  perhaps  the  most  destructive  of  all  the  four, 
seeing  it  is  the  undermost  and  original  story  of  all  sin;  and  it 
is  base  also  from  the  necessary  foolishness  of  it,  because  at  its  best, 
that  is  when  grounded  on  a  just  estimation  of  our  own  elevation 
or  superiority  above  certain  oth*-  .s,  it  cannot  but  imply  that  oar 
eyes  look  downward  only,  and  have  never  been  raised  above  our 
own  measure,  for  there  is  not  the  man  so  lofty  in  his  standing  nor 
capacity  but  he  must  be  humble  in  thinking  of  the  cloud  habita- 
tion and  far  sight  of  the  angelic  intelligences  above  him,  and  in 
perceiving  what  infinity  there  is  of  things  he  cannot  know  nor  even 
reach  unto,  as  it  stands  compared  with  that  little  body  of  things 
he  can  reach,  and  of  which  nevertheless  he  can  altogether  under- 
stand not  one;  not  to  speak  of  that  wicked  and  fond  attributing 
of  such  excellency  as  he  may  have  to  himself,  and  thinking  of  it 
as  his  own  getting,  which  is  ihe  real  essence  and  crimindity  of 
pride,  nor  of  those  viler  forms  of  it,  founded  on  false  estimation 
of  things  beneath  us  and  irrational  contemning  of  them ;  but  taken 
at  its  best,  it  is  still  base  to  that  degree  that  there  is  no  grandeur  of 
feature  which  it  cannot  destroy  and  make  despicable,  so  that  the 
first  step  towards  the  ennobling  of  any  face  is  the  ridding  it  of 
its  vanity.— «.  ///,  See.  i;Ch.  I4. 

SENStJALITY  PATAl  TO  BEATTTY  TS  ABT. 

21.  That  second  destroyer  of  ideal  form,  the  appearance  of  sen- 
sual character,  though  not  less  fatal  in  its  operation  on  modem 
art,  is  more  dmiealt  to  trace,  owing  to  its  peculiar  subtlety.  For  it 
is  not  possible  to  say  by  what  minute  dififerences  the  right  concep- 
tion of  the  human  form  is  separated  from  that  which  is  luscious 
and  foul:  for  the  root  of  all  i*  in  the  love  and  seeking  of  the  painter, 
who,  if  of  impure  and  feeble  mind,  will  cover  all  that  he  touches 
with  clay  stainin^;,  as  Bandinelli  pats  a  fool  scent  of  haman  fkah 
about  \m  marble  Christ. 

24.  With  the  religious  painters  such  nudity  as  they  were  com- 
pelled to  treat  is  redeemed  as  much  by  severity  of  form  and  hard- 
ness of  line  as  by  color,  so  that  generally  their  draped  figures  are 
preferable,  as  in  the  Francia  of  our  own  gallery.  But  these,  with 
Michael  Angelo  and  the  Venetians,  except  Titian,  form  a  great 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

bodjr  both  for  power  Sinm 
WMte,  It  ta  kept  in  Mber  gOTemment. 

DwmpMrt  tbraogb  miamle  and  pMsion.  bac." 

— «.  Ill,  See.  1,  Ch.  14. 

all  offence  to^^S?  wS  t  ^ed  JKaTof  '^"'l 
essential  fear  there  is  n^ui^chnJi^  !   "i'J^^  °^  ""^  «»d 
their  Rock,  Fortress.  and^ehW  TJ^  " 
out  of  fear,  so  that  it  is  noSble  tSf  fi  t V?''"' 
bent  on  him,  there  should  iSXad  of  J^ifn  "^htly 
eupematural.  and  the  movT S^^C  tU''^?  ^f^^J^"^ 

to  hi.  fear;  .l^t^^^H  ^^^t^i'^^  wh^^Zf' 

oi  s  Wi^r  ^^^^^ 

nor  know  h£  lit  f*^  omnipresence  fear  him 

Wted  fofTv^orTf^^i'on'^p'iv'  ^^''T^i'  ^o"* 
to  the  rocks.  anTwdes  4  the  d^'       if  ^^"^  «^ 
ness  of  the  expression  of  te^rf?Cn«  ;^:  '^^r^^ 
times,  and  among  aU  nations,  as  of  aT      it     '  1        T  *5 
profane.  So  also,  it  is  always  ioinec     th  f«t         h°P^!^^'  and 
passions  the  least  hum^r^or'TinsuS  dl   ^  the^^Vv"' 

and  of  fear  there  m  at  tTml  niJ/-!^"*^*"*'  *  8«>o<l  ^t.' 


REUQI0U8  THOUGHT  IN  ART  107 

GOOD  SOMBTIMBd  EXFBE8SKD  BY  EVIL  MSIT. 

8.  It  seems  to  me  that  much  of  what  ia  great,  and  to  all  men 
beneficial,  has  been  wrought  by  those  who  neither  intended  nor 
knew  the  good  they  did,  and  that  many  mighty  harmonies  have 
been  discoursed  by  instruments  that  had  been  dumb  or  discordant 
but  that  God  knew  their  stops.  The  spirit  of  Prophecy  consisted 
with  the  avarice  of  Balaam,  and  the  disobedience  of  S«il.  Orald 
we  spare  from  its  page  that  parable,  which  he  said,  who  saw  the 
vision  of  the  Almighty,  falling  into  a  trance,  but  having  his  eyes 
open,  though  we  know  that  the  sword  of  his  punishment  was  then 
anaop  in  its  sheath  beneath  him  in  the  nlains  of  Moab?  or  shall  we 
not  lament  with  David  over  the  shield  cast  away  on  the  Gilboa 
mountains,  of  him  to  whom  God  gave  another  heart  that  day  when 
he  turned  his  back  to  go  from  Samuel?  It  is  not  our  part  to  look 
hardly,  nor  to  look  always,  to  the  character  or  the  deeds  of  men, 
but  to  accept  from  all  of  them,  and  to  hold  fast  that  which  we  can 
prove  good,  and  feel  to  be  ordained  for  us.  We  know  that  what- 
ever good  there  is  in  them  is  itself  divine,  and  wherever  we  see 
the  virtue  of  ajdent  labor  and  self-aurrendering  to  a  single  purpose, 
wherever  we  &ad  constant  reference  made  to  the  written  scripture 
of  natural  beauty,  this  at  least  we  know  is  ereat  and  good,  this  we 
know  is  not  granted  by  the  counsel  of  God,  without  purpose,  nor 
maintained  without  result.  Their  interpretation  we  may  accept, 
into  their  labor  we  may  enter,  but  they  themselves  must  lool:  to 
it,  if  what  they  do  has  no  intent  of  good,  nor  any  reference  to  the 
Giver  of  all  gifts.  Selfish  in  their  industry,  unchastened  in  their  wills, 
ungrateful  for  the  Spirit  that  is  upon  them,  they  may  yet  be  helmed 
by  Uiat  Spirit  whithersoever  the  Governor  listeth;  involuntary  m- 
struments  they  may  become  of  othen'  good;  unwillingly  they  may 
bless  Israel,  doubtingly  discomfit  Amuek,  but  shortcoming  there 
will  be  of  their  i^aty,  and  sure  of  tiieir  punishment.— P<.  See.  1, 
Ch.  15. 

THB  BOOT  OF  SCHISM  AND  THE  PAILUBB  OF  PBKACHINQ. 

11.  12.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  real  sources  of  bluntness  in  the 
feelings  towards  the  splendor  of  the  grass  and  glory  of  the  flower, 
are  less  to  be  found  in  ardor  of  occupation,  in  seriousness  of  com- 
passion, or  heavenliness  of  desire,  than  in  the  turning  of  the  eye 
at  intervals  of  rest  too  selfishly  within ;  the  want  of  power  to  shake 
off  the  anxieties  of  actual  and  near  interest,  and  to  leave  results  in 
God's  hands;  the  scorn  of  all  that  does  not  seem  immediately  apt 
for  our  purposes,  or  open  to  our  understanding,  and  perhaps  some- 
thing of  pride,  which  desires  rather  to  investigate  than  to  feel.  I 
believe  that  the  root  of  almost  every  schism  and  heresy  from  which 
the  C&rfctian  church  has  ever  suffered,  has  been  the  effort  of  men 
to  ewn,  lather  than  to  receive,  their  salvation;  and  that  the  reason 


io8 


TBE  RELIGION  OF  nuSKW 


that       J,-  ^veiKm 

»ot  3eny,  are  always  i^jfcj  t^^ugh  th^  ^^JJS^.*^" 
were  to  show  th^m  „  sometimes  unahl*.  tP°°*  dare 

Deity.  wh^Vin/r^"^^'«^ble,  inevitab?t/° 


we;e  t7show  S^^^'^^'^S.  sometimT;„abTe'S?°°*  """-^^^^ 

At  all  events         ^""^  ''''^^''"^ 
to  mingle  the  VTl  lT'  inability  in  thi, 

cast  anchors  out  nf  the  waters.  anA  —  , 


and 

■ne 
Th 


cast  anchora  onf  n  of  the  watew  nn^  ' 

come,  wheS^  w"  hlhi"!  stern  and  wish  fofthe  dav  f% 
the,creatu^:fG:STa5rir  'g„"yh«  crystal  stb  1^4 1g 

■  ».  A  powerrivTr'  'J  ^^"^  "'AoiK.'no.. 
same  instant  woSil  l-T^'  ^^^^  «ny  one  o"  them  t 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  109 

that  no  less  an  operation  is  necessary  for  the  production  of  any 
great  work,  for,  by  the  definition  of  unity  of  membership,  (the 
essential  characterutic  of  greatness,)  not  only  certain  couples  or 
groups  of  parts,  but  aU  tiie  parts  of  a  noble  work  must  be  separately 
imperfect ;  each  must  imply,  and  ask  for  all  the  rest,  and  the  glory 
of  every  one  of  them  must  consist  in  its  relation  to  tiie  rest,  neither 
while  to  much  as  one  is  wanting  can  any  be  riii^t. 

WHAT  THB  HTM  AX  MIND  CANKOT  DO. 

10.  There  is,  however,  a  limit  to  the  power  of  all  human  im- 
agination, when  the  relations  to  be  observed  are  absolutely  nec- 
essary, and  highly  complicated,  the  mind  cannot  grasp  them,  and 
the  result  is  a  total  deprivation  of  all  power  of  imagination  associa- 
tive in  such  matter.  For  this  reason,  no  human  mind  has  ever 
conceived  a  new  animal.  For  as  it  is  evident  that  in  an  animal, 
every  part  implies  all  the  rest ;  that  is,  the  form  of  the  eye  involvea 
the  form  of  the  brow  and  nose,  these  the  form  of  the  forehead  and 
lip,  these  of  the  head  and  chin,  and  so  on,  so  that  it  is  physically 
impossible  to  conceive  of  any  one  of  these  members,  unless  we 
conceive  the  relation  it  bears  to  the  whole  animal ;  and  as  this  rela- 
tion is  necessary,  certain,  and  complicated,  allowing  of  no  license 
or  inaccuracy,  the  intellect  utterly  fails  under  the  load,  and  ia  re- 
duced to  mere  composition,  putting  the  bird's  wing  on  men's 
shoulders,  or  half  tne  human  body  to  half  the  horse's,  in  doing 
which  there  is  no  action  of  imagination,  but  only  of  fancy ;  though 
in  the  treatment  and  contemplation  of  the  compound  form  thm 
may  be  much  imagination. — Pt.  Ill,  Sec.  9,  Ch.  2. 

tintobet's  great  picture  of  the  crucifixion. 

20.  The  most  exquisite  instance  of  this  imaginative  power  occurs 
in  an  incident  in  the  background  of  the  Crucifixion.  I  will  not 
insult  this  marvellous  picture  by  an  effort  at  a  verbal  account 
of  it.  I  would  not  whitewash  it  with  praise,  and  I  refer  to  it  only 
for  the  sake  of  two  thoughts  peculiarly  illustrative  of  the  intellectual 
faculty  immediately  under  discussion.  In  the  common  and  most 
catholic  treatment  of  the  subject,  the  mind  is  either  painfully  di- 
rected to  the  bodily  agony,  coarsely  expressed  by  outward  anatomi- 
cal signs,  or  else  it  is  permitted  to  rest  on  that  countenance  incon- 
ceivable by  man  at  any  time,  but  chiefly  so  in  this  its  consum- 
mated humiliation.  In  the  first  case,  the  representation  is  revolting; 
in  the  second,  inefficient,  false,  and  sometimes  blasphemous.  None 
even  of  the  greatest  religious  painters  have  ever,  so  far  as  I  know, 
succeeded  here.  .  .  .  But  Tintoret  here,  as  in  all  other  cases,  pene- 
trating into  the  root  and  deep  places  of  his  subject,  despising  all 
outward  and  hndily  appearances  of  pain,  and  seeking  for  some 
means  of  expressing,  not  the  rack  of  nerve  or  sinew,  but  the  fainting 


no  THE  REUOION  OF  RV8KIN 

of  the  deserted  Son  of  God  before  hia  Eloi  cry,  and  yet  feeling 
himself  utterly  unequal  to  the  expression  of  this  by  the  countei^oe, 
has  on  the  one  hand  filled  his  picture  with  such  various  and  vox- 
petuous  muscular  exertion  that  the  body  of  the  Crucified  is,  by 
comparison,  in  perfect  repoee,  and  on  the  other  has  cast  the  counte- 
nance altogether  into  shade.  But  the  agony  is  told  by  this,  and 
by  this  only,  Uiat  though  there  yet  remains  a  chasm  of  light  on 
the  mountain  horizon  where  the  earthquake  darkness  closes  upon 
the  day,  the  broad  and  sunlight  glory  about  the  head  of  the  Re- 
deemer has  become  wan,  and  of  the  color  of  ashes. 

But  the  great  painter  felt  he  had  something  more  to  do  yet. 
Not  only  that  agony  of  the  Crucified,  but  the  tumult  of  the  peo- 
ple, that  rage  which  invoked  his  blood  upon  them  and  their  chil- 
dren. Not  only  the  brutality  of  the  soldier,  the  apathy  of  tiie 
centurion,  nor  any  other  merely  instrumental  cause  of  the  Divine 
suffering,  but  the  fury  of  his  own  people,  the  noise  against  him  of 
those  for  whom  he  died,  were  to  be  set  before  the  eye  of  the  under- 
standing, if  Qxe  power  of  the  picture  was  to  be  complete.  This  rage, 
be  it  remembered,  was  one  of  disappointed  pride;  and  the  disap- 
pointment dated  essentially  from  the  time  when,  but  five  days  m* 
fore,  the  King  of  Zion  came,  and  was  received  with  hosannahs,  rid> 
ing  upon  an  ass,  and  a  colt  the  foal  of  an  ass.  To  this  time,  then, 
it  was  necessary  to  direct  the  thoughts,  for  therein  are  found  both 
the  cause  and  the  character,  the  excitement  of,  and  the  witness 
against,  this  madness  of  the  people.  In  the  shadow  behind  the 
cross,  a  man,  riding  on  an  ass  colt,  looks  back  to  the  multitude, 
while  he  points  with  a  rod  to  the  Christ  crucified.  Tne  ass  is  feed- 
ing on  4he  rvmnmti  of  withered  fMlmrktnetf—Pt.  HI,  See.  S,  Ch.  S. 

THE  JUDGMENT  DAY  BY  TINTORET. 

24.  By  Tintoret  only  has  this  unmanageable  event  been  grappled 
with  in  its  verity;  not  typically  nor  symbolically,  but  as  they  may 
see  it  who  shall  not  sleep,  but  be  changed.  Only  one  traditional 
circumstance  he  has  received  with  Dante  and  Michael  Angelo,  the 
IxMtt  of  the  condemned;  but  the  impetuosity  of  his  mind  bursts 
out  even  in  the  adoption  of  this  image,  he  has  not  stopped  at  the 
scowling  ferryman  of  the  one  nor  at  tne  sweeping  blow  and  demon 
dragging  of  the  other,  but,  seized  Hylas-like  by  the  limbs,  and 
tearing  up  the  earth  in  his  agony,  the  victim  is  dashed  into  his 
destruction ;  nor  is  it  the  sluggish  Lethe,  nor  the  fiery  lake  that  bears 
the  cursed  vessel,  but  the  oceans  of  the  earth  and  the  waters  of 
the  firmament  gathered  into  one  white,  ghastly  „ataract,  the  nver 
of  the  wrath  of  God,  roaring  down  into  the  gulf  whfere  the  world 
has  melted  with  its  fervent  heat,  dioked  with  the  ruin  of  nations, 
and  the  limbs  of  its  corpses  tossed  out  of  its  whirling,  like  wat  -• 
wbada.  Bat-like,  oat  of  the  hdas  and  wvems  and  shadowi  of  the 


REUOlOUa  TBOVOBT  IN  ABT  u» 

Mith,  the  boDM  gather,  and  the  day-heaps  heave,  rattling  tad 
adhering  into  hal^kneaded  anatomiei,  that  crawl,  and  atartte,  and 
struggle  up  among  the  putrid  weeda,  with  the  clay  clinging  to  thnr 
clotted  hair,  and  their  heavy  eyes  sealed  by  the  earth  darknMs  yet, 
like  hia  of  old  who  went  hia  way  unseeing  to  Siloam  Pool;  shaking 
off  one  by  one  the  dreama  of  the  prison-bouae,  hardiv  hearing  the 
eUmm  o£  the  trumpeti  of  the  arraiea  of  God,  blinded  yet  more, 
rnltn  awake,  by  the  whito  light  of  the  new  Heaven,  until  Uia 
great  vortex  M  the  four  winds  beaie  up  their  bodies  to  the  judg- 
ment seat:  the  firmament  if  all  full  of  them,  a  very  dust  of  human 
souls,  that  drifts,  and  floats,  and  falls  in  the  interminably 
ble  light;  the  bright  clouds  are  darkened  with  them  aa  with  tmac 
snow,  currents  of  atom  life  in  the  arteries  of  heaven,  now  soarms 
up  slowly,  farther,  and  higher,  and  higher  still,  till  the  eye  and 
the  thought  can  follow  no  farther,  borne  up,  wingless,  bv  their  in- 
ward faim  and  by  the  angel  powers  invisible,  now  hurled  in  coontp 
)m  drifts  of  horror  baton  the  breath  of  their  condemnation. 

THE  SUPEBNATVRAI.  IN  GREAT  PICTURES. 

36.  The  power  of  every  pietnn  d^Mnds  on  the  penetratioo  of 
r^e  imagination  into  tiM  ntim  nature  of  the  thing  tepresented. 
and  on  the  utter  scorn  of  the  imannation  for  all  shackles  and 

fetters  of  mere  external  fact  that  stand  in  the  way  of  its  suggestive- 
ness.  In  Uie  Baptism  it  cuts  away  the  trunks  of  trees  as  if  they 
were  so  r  uch  cloud  or  vapor,  that  it  may  exhibit  to  the  thought 
the  completed  sequency  of  the  scene ;  in  the  Massacre,  it  covers  the 
marble  floor  with  visionary  light,  that  it  may  strike  terror  into  the 
qMCtator  without  condescending  to  butchery:  it  defies  the  bare  act, 
hot  creates  in  him  the  fearful  feeling;  in  the  Cmdflsion  it  anni- 
hilates locality,  and  brings  the  pahn-iMTas  to  Calvaqr,  so  only  that 
it  may  bear  the  mind  to  the  moont  of  Olives,  as  m  Uie  entomb- 
ment it  brings  tiie  manger  to  Jerusalem,  that  it  may  take  the  heart 
to  Bethlehem:  and  all  this  it  does  in  the  daring  consciousness  of 
its  higher  and  spiritual  verity,  and  in  the  entire  knowledge  of  the 
fact  and  substance  of  all  that  it  touches.  The  imaginary  boat  of 
the  donon  angel  expands  the  rush  of  the  visible  river  into  the 
descent  of  irresistible  condemnation;  but  to  make  that  rush  and 
roar  fdt  by  the  eye  and  heard  by  the  ear,  the  rending  of  the  pine 
branches  above  the  cataract  is  token  directly  from  natnse;  »  » 
an  abstract  of  Alpine  storm.— P«.  Ill,  See.  S,  Ch.  S, 

MANITBSTATION  OF  THB  SUPERNATURAL. 

2.  There  are  four  ways  in  which  beings  supematnral  may  be 
conceived  as  manifesting  themselves  to  human  sense.  The  first, 
by  external  types,  signs,  or  influences:  as  God  to  Moses  in  the 
tjmmt  of  the  Duah,  and  to  Elijah  in  the  vdee  Of  Hindi). 


lit  TBS  REUOION  OP  RVSKIN 

The  second,  by  the  aiisumins  of  a  form  not  properly  belonsbs 
*/  JP^*  4 of  •  Dove,  thr«^nd  wSS 

of  the  Tnnity  of  that  of  a  lamb;  and  «>  -uch  manife«tatio:S,  unSr 
•naehc  or  otW  form,  of  the  first  person  of  the  Trinity/i  i!« 
to  have  been  made  to  Abraham,  Moses  and  Ezekiel. 

The  third,  by  the  manifestation  of  a  form  properly  bclonrina 
to  them,  but  not  necessarily  seen;  as  of  the  Risen  Cihrist  toHhS 
disciples  when  the  doors  were  ahut.  And  the  fourth,  by  their 
operation  on  the  human  form,  which  they  influence  <a  UiniM. 
•i  in  the  shining  of  the  face  of  Moeee.  « 

in  all  these  cases,  wherever  there  is  form  at 
ail,  if  la  tbe  fMrm  of  some  creature  to  us  known.  It  ia  no  new 
form  peculiw  to  mint  nor  can  it  be.  We  can  conceive  of  none.  Our 
inquiry  u  simply,  therefore,  by  what  modifications  those  creature 
forms  to  us  known,  as  of  a  lamb,  a  bird,  or  a  human  creature, 
may  be  explained  as  signs  or  habitations  of  Divinity,  or  of  anoelio 
and  nol  ereataree  inch  as  they  seem.— ft.  777,  See.  8,  Ch.7. 

ART  BAg  NOT  BUCCE8BPULLY  REPRESENTED  CHRIST. 

7.  Of  that  which  is  more  than  creature,  no  creattne  e?«r  eon* 

ceived  I  think  this  almost  self^vident,  for  it  is  clear  that  the  il- 
limitableness  of  Divine  attributes  cannot  be  by  matter  represented, 
(though  It  may  be  typified,)  and  I  believe  that  all  who  are  ac^ 
quain*«d  with  the  range  of  sacred  art  will  admit,  not  only  that  no 
reprwentation  of  Christ  has  ever  been  even  partially  successful, 
but  that  the  greatest  painters  fall  therein  below  their  accustomed 
level;  Perugino  and  Fra  Anpelico  especially;  Leonari  has  I  think 
done  b^t,  but  perhaps  the  h-wty  o"  the  fr<u;ent  left  at  Alilan,  ia 
as  much  dependent  on  the  very  untraceableness  resulting  from  in- 
jury  aa  on  its  wiginal  perfection.— P<.  777,  8te.  t,  Ch.  S. 

GREEK  ART  COMPARED  AVITK  CHBnriAK  MXt. 

29;,  whatever  kind  or  degree  the  shortcoming  mav  be,  it  is  no^: 
possible  but  that  shortcoming  should  be  visible  in  every  pugan  con- 
ception, when  set  beside  Christian ;  and,  believing,  for  my  own  pari: 
that  there  is  not  Dnly  deficiency,  but  such  difference  in  kind  as 
must  make  all  Greek  oonception  full  of  danger  to  the  student  in 
proportion  to  his  admiration  of  it;  as  I  think  has  been  fatally 
seen  in  its  effect  on  the  Italian  schools  when  its  pernicious  ele- 
ment first  mingled  with  their  solemn  purity,  and  recently  in  its 
influence  on  the  French  historical  painters:  neither  can  I  from 
my  present  knowledge  fix  upon  an  ancient  statue  which  expresses 
t)y  the  countenance  any  one  elevated  character  of  the  soul,  or  any 
single  enthusiastic  sclf-ahandoning  affection,  much  less  any  such 
majesty  of  feeling  as  might  mark  the  features  for  supernatural 
The  Greek  could  not  conceive  a  spirit;  he  coald  do  nothing  with 


RELIGIOUS  THOUOHT  IN  ART  113 

out  limbi;  hii  god  is  a  finite  god,  talking,  pursuing,  and  going 
jouraeyi;  if  at  any  time  he  was  touched  with  a  true  feeling  of 
the  unseen  powers  around  him,  it  was  in  the  field  of  poised  Da(> 
tie,  for  there  is  something  in  the  near  coming  of  the  shadow  of 
death,  aomathing  in  the  devoted  fulfilment  of  mortal  duty,  that 
TCveau  the  rui  God,  though  darkly ;  .  .  .  and  yet  what  were  the 
Greek's  thoughts  of  his  god  of  battle?  No  spirit  power  was  in  the 
vision;  it  was  a  being  of  clay  strength  and  humtn  passion,  foul, 
fierce,  and  changeful;  of  penetrable  arms  and  vulnerable  flesh. 
Gather  what  we  may  of  great,  from  pagan  chisel  or  pagan  dream, 
and  set  it  beside  the  orderer  of  Christian  warfare,  Michael  the  Arch- 
•Dgel:  not  Milton's  "with  hostile  brow  and  visage  all  inflamed," 
not  even  Milton's  in  kingly  treading  of  the  hills  of  Paradise,  not 
RafTaelle's  with  the  expanded  wings  and  brandished  spear,  but 
Perugino's  with  his  triple  crest  of  tracclesa  plume  unshaken  in 
heaven,  his  hand  fallen  on  his  crossleted  sword,  the  truth  girdle 
binding  his  undinted  armor;  God  has  put  his  power  upon  him, 
leaistless  radiance  is  on  his  limbs,  no  lines  are  there  of  earthly 
■length,  no  trace  on  the  divine  features  of  earthly  anger;  trust- 
fol  and  thoog^tful,  fearleaa,  hot  full  of  love,  incapable  except  of 
the  repose  of  eternal  eonqnest,  vessel  and  instrument  of  Omnipo* 
tence,  filled  like  a  cloud  with  the  victor  light,  the  dust  of  pnn- 
cipalities  and  powers  beneath  his  feet,  the  murmur  of  hell  against 
him  heard  by  his  spiritual  ear  like  the  winding  of  a  shell  on  the 
lUHoff  aeadMra.— P(.  1/7,  See.  S,  Ch.  6. 

HIGHEST  EXPRESSION  OF  ART  IK  CHBI8TIAN  THSMO. 

21.  The  field  of  sacred  history,  the  intent  and  scope  of  Chris- 
tian feeli-  g,  are  too  wide  and  exalted  to  admit  of  the  juxtaposition 
of  any  ot,  °r  sphere  or  order  of  conception ;  they  embrace  all  other 
fields  like  the  dome  of  heaven.  With  what  comparison  shall  we 
compare  the  types  of  the  martyr  saints,  the  St.  Stephen  of  Fra 
Bartolomeo,  with  his  calm  forehead  crowned  by  the  stony  diadem, 
or  the  St.  Catherine  of  Raffaelle  looking  up  to  neaven  in  the  dawn 
of  the  eternal  day,  with  her  lips  parted  in  the  resting  from  her 
pain?  or  with  what  the  Madonnas  of  Francia  and  Pinturicchio,  in 
whom  the  hues  of  the  morning  and  the  solemnity  of  the  eve,  the 
gladness  in  ncpomplished  promise,  and  sorrow  of  the  sword-pierced 
heart,  are  gathered  into  one  human  lamp  of  ineflPable  love?  or  with 
what  the  anp;cl  choirs  of  Angelico,  with  the  flames  on  their  white 
foreheads  waving  brighter  as  they  move,  and  the  sparkles  stream- 
ing from  their  purple  wings  like  the  glitter  of  many  suns  upon  a 
sounding  sea,  listenmg,  in  the  pauses  of  alternate  song,  for  the  pro- 
longing of  the  trumpet  blast,  and  the  answering  of  psaltery  and 
cvmbal,  throughout  the  endless  deep  and  fvmn  all  the  star  shwet 
of  heaven?— Pi.  ///,  8ec.  2,  Ch.  5. 


Ill 


MODERN  PAINTERa 
Vol.  IIL  (1866.) 

Part  IV.  "Or  Maitt  Thingb"— 18  Gbi^ 

Ten  years  had  passed  since  Ruskin  issued  his  second  volume  of 
this  great  work,  containing  Parts  I  to  III.  This  third  volume  is 
Part  IV,  and  in  it,  the  author  treats  "of  many  thin^"  in  art:  each 
one  of  the  eighteen  chapters  being  devoted  to  a  separate  subject. 
Chief  among  these  subjects  are  "Style,"  "Bealiiatiaii,"  "Jjwil.'* 
"Novelty,"  and  "Landscape." 

In  the  preface  the  author  telle  UB  that  he  had  given  {heae  ten 
years  of  his  life  to  the  "single  ptupoie  of  imaKHng  myadf  to  jndm 
rightly  of  art." 

In  chapter  VII  on  "The  True  Ideal— Natonlist,"  he  daime  the 

attributes  of  a  seer  for  all  great  artists: — 

"All  the  great  men  eee  what  they  paint  before  they  paint  it, — see 
it  in  a  perfectly  passive  manner, — cannot  help  seeing  it  if  they  would; 
whether  in  their  mind's  eye,  or  in  bodily  fact,  does  not  matter;  very 
often  the  mental  vision  is,  I  believe,  in  men  of  imagination,  clearer 
than  the  bodily  one ;  bat  vision  it  is,  of  one  kind  or  another,— 4he 
whole  scene,  character,  or  incident  passing  before  them  as  in  second 
sight,  whether  they  will  or  no,  and  requiring  them  to  paint  it  as  they 
see  it;  they  not  daring,  under  the  might  of  its  presence,  to  alt« 
one  jot  or  tittle  of  it  as  they  write  it  down  or  paint  it  down;  it 
being  to  them  in  its  own  kind  and  degree  always  a  true  vision  or 
Apocalypse,  end  invariably  accompanied  in  their  heerti  by  a  feel> 
ing  correspondent  to  the  words, — '  Write  the  thingi  which  .."mm  hatt 
teen,  and  the  things  which  are.' " 

Although  written  at  the  time  when  passing  throng^  the  critical 
change  in  faith  and  doctrine,'  the  volume,  as  a  whole,  furnishes 
abundant  evidence  of  the  religious  mind  of  Ruskin  of  which  the 
f  <dlowing  selections  are  witnesses : 

>iM  Cbntm  oa  "Tht  BdlgioBa  Mtad  of  BhUb." 

"4 


RELI0I0V8  THOUGHT  IN  ART  115 

TBI  UOBT  Vn  or  TBI  nCACBNATIOW. 

Its  first  and  noblest  use  is,  to  enable  us  to  bring  sensibly  to  our 
fight  the  things  which  are  recorded  as  belonging  to  our  future  state, 
cr  as  invisibly  surrounding  us  in  this.  It  is  given  us  that  we  maj 
VAiAgii:«  the  cloud  of  witnesaea  in  heaven  and^  earth,  and  see,  as  if 
tiiey  wei-»  now  present,  the  sools  ci  the  righteous  waiting  for  us; 
that  v^e  raay  conceive  the  great  army  of  the  inhabitants  <n  heaveiit 
end  disc  >ver  among  them  those  whom  we  most  desire  to  be  with  for 
that  we  may  be  able  to  vision  forth  the  ministry  of  an^ls 
beside  us,  and  see  the  chariots  of  fire  on  the  mountains  that  gird 
us  round;  but  above  all,  to  call  up  the  scenes  and  facts  in  which 
we  are  commanded  to  believe,  and  be  present,  as  if  in  the  body, 
at  every  reccxcded  event  of  the  hktmy  of  the  Redeemer^— ft.  Iv, 
Ch.  1. 

CHBUT  AT  XfkVCK  OF  11*T-w«» — ^PETER  S  BOLD  SWIM. 

16.  I  suppose  there  is  no  event  in  the  whole  life  of  Christ  to 
which,  in  hours  of  doubt  or  fear,  men  turn  with  more  anxious 
thirst  to  know  the  close  facts  of  it,  or  with  more  earnest  and  pas- 
sionate dwelling  upon  every  syllable  of  its  recorded  narrative,  than 
Christ's  showing  Himself  to  his  disciples  at  the  lake  of  Galilee. 
There  is  something  pre-eminentir  open,  natural,  full  fronting  our 
disbelief  in  this  manifestation.  Tne  otbers,  recorded  after  the  resur- 
reotion,  were  sudden,  phantom-like,  occurring  to_  men  in  pro- 
found sorrow  and  wearied  agitation  of  heart;  not,  it  might  seem, 
safe  judges  of  what  they  saw.  But  the  ag^tation  was  now  over. 
They  haS  gone  back  to  their  daily  work,  thinking  still  their  busi- 
ness lay  netwards,  unmeshed  from  the  literal  rope  and  drag.  "Si- 
mon Peter  saith  unto  them,  'I  go  a  fishing.'  They  say  unto  him, 
'We  also  go  with  thee.'  "  True  words  enough,  and  having  far  echo 
beyond  those  OalUean  hills.  That  night  they  caught  nothing ;  but 
when  the  morning  came,  in  the  clear  li^t  of  it,  behold  a  figure 
stood  on  the  shore.  They  were  not  thinking  of  anything  but  uieir 
fruitless  hauls.  They  had  nn  guess  who  it  was.  It  asked  them 
simply  if  they  had  caught  a..ything.  They  said  no.  And  it  tells 
them  to  cast  yet  again.  And  John  shades  nis  eyes  from  the  morn- 
ing sun  with  his  hand,  to  look  who  it  is;  and  though  the  glinting 
of  the  sea,  too,  dazzles  him,  he  makes  out  who  it  is,  at  last;  and 
poor  Bimon,  not  to  be  outran  this  time,  tightens  his  fisher's  coat 
about  him,  and  dashes  in,  over  the  nets.  One  would  have  liked 
to  see  him  swim  those  hundred  yards,  and  stagger  to  his  knees  on 
the  beach. 

Well,  the  others  get  to  the  beach,  too,  in  time,  in  such  slow  wav 
as  men  in  general  do  get,  in  this  world,  to  its  true  shore,  much 
impeded  by  that  wonderful  "dracKing  the  net  with  fishes;"  but 
they  ^  tTicro  mm  <d  titem  in  au ;  mit  ^tut  Dmier,  ana  then 


„6  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

PL  IV,  Ch.  i. 

ABT  IN  RELIGION — A  FAILURE. 

20   Has  there  then,  been  no  true  religious  ideal?  Has  religiotw 

,W  e'xUt,  aa  yet,  hardly  any  ^pta.  .^'^'^SXei^XS 
1  kit  there  is  one  true  form  of  religious  art,  neverthe- 

may  be  en^P^^?  , "  ^"  *  received  as  an  assertion  of  pos- 

ness  (the  whole  being,  of  „rr^^     imagined  by  the 

-Paradise,  or  »«y J"  \"  „  %  .t,.  ^--e  thev  are  considered,  not  as 
ful  religioofl  marters;  and  the  """I®  ?^  ^^je  or  less  imper- 
works  of  art,  but  as  real  ^^^^{.'g^^t  bv  doling  upon  thm. 
fectly  set  dovm,  %'^'^Xi^S^J^t  &^^  I  UVing  pre;- 

Ch.4- 

FUTURE  OF  ART  IN  RELIGIOUS  SERVICE.  ^ 

If  we  would  cherish  the  hope  that  sabred  art  ^^y^^^^^^^^^^^ 


RELIOIOVS  THOUGHT  IN  ART 


"7 


accomplishment.  The  group  callii.^  themselves  Evangelical  ought 
no  longer  to  render  their  religion  an  offence  to  the  men  of  the 
world  by  associating  it  only  with  the  most  vulgar  forms  of  art.  It 
is  not  necessary  that  they  should  admit  either  music  or  painting 
into  religious  service;  but,  if  they  admit  either  the  one  or  the 
other,  let  it  not  be  bad  music  nor  bad  painting:  it  is  certainly  ia 
nowise  more  for  Christ's  honor  that  His  praise  should  be  sung  dis« 
cordantly,  or  His  miracles  painted  discreditably,  than  that  His  word 
should  be  preached  ungrammatically.  Some  Evangelicals,  how- 
ever, seem  to  take  a  morbid  pride  in  the  triple  degradation. — Pt. 
IV,  Ch.  i. 

yO  VULGARITY  IX  TRUTH. 

9.  There  is,  indeed,  perhaps,  no  greater  sign  of  innate  and  real 
vulgarity  of  mind  or  defective  education  than  the  want  of  power 
to  understand  the  universality  of  the  ideal  truth;  the  absence  of 

rpathy  with  the  colossal  grasp  of  those  intellects,  which  have  in 
n  so  much  of  divine,  that  nothing  is  small  to  tiiem,  and  noth« 
ing  large ;  but  with  equal  and  unoffended  vision  they  take  in  the  sum 
of  the  world.  ...  A  certain  portion  of  this  divine  spirit  is  visible 
even  in  the  lower  examples  of  all  the  true  men;  it  is,  indeed,  per- 
haps, the  clearest  test  of  their  belonging  to  the  true  and  great 
group,  that  they  are  continually  touching  what  to  the  multitude 
appear  vulgarities.  The  higher  a  man  stands,  the  more  the  word 
"vulgar*  ^ecomes  unintelligible  to  him.  Vulgar?  what,  that  poor 
farmer's  girl  of  William  Hunt's,  bred  in  the  stable,  putting  on 
her  Sunday  gown,  and  pinning  her  best  cap  out  of  the  green  and 
red  pin-cushion?  Not  so;  she  may  be  straight  on  the  road  to  those 
high  heavens,  and  may  shine  hereafter  as  one  of  the  stars  in  the  fir- 
mament forever.  Nay,  even  that  lady  in  the  satin  bodice  with  her  arm 
laid  over  a  balustrade  to  show  it,  and  her  eyes  turned  up  to  heaven 
to  show  them ;  and  the  ^rtsman  waving  his  rifle  for  the  terror  of 
beasts,  and  displaying  his  perfect  dress  ror  the  delight  of  men,  are 
kept,  by  the  very  misery  and  vanity  of  them,  in  the  thoughts  of 
a  great  painter,  at  a  sorrowful  level,  somewhat  above  vulgarity.  It 
is  only  when  the  minor  painter  takes  them  on  his  easel,  that  they 
become  things  fo**  the  universe  to  be  ashamed  of. 

We  may  dismiss  this  matter  of  vulgarity  in  plain  and  few  words, 
at  least  as  far  as  regards  art.  There  is  never  vulgarity  in  a  whola 
troth,  however  commonplace.  It  may  be  unimportant  or  painful. 
It  cannot  be  vulgar.  Vulgarity  ii  only  in  wwMmlment  of  truth,  or 
in  affectation.— -Pt.  IV,  Ch.  7. 


OEKIUB. 

10.  Every  great  composition  is  in  perfect  harmony  with  all  troe 
roles,  and  involves  thousands  too  delicate  for  ear,  or  eye,  or  thought, 
to  trace;  still  it  is  possible  to  reason,  with  infinite  pleasure  and 


„8  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

orofit.  about  these  principles,  when  the  thing  is  once  done;  only,  all 
our  reasoning  wUI  not  enable  any  one  to  do  anoiher  thing  like 
it,  because  all  reasoning  falls  infinitely  short  of  the  diyme  iMtinct. 
Thus  we  may  reason  wisely  over  the  way  a  bee  builds  its  comb,  and 
be  profited  by  finding  out  certain  things  about  the  angles  of  it. 
But  the  bee  knows  nothing  about  those  matters.  It  builds  its 
comb  in  a  far  more  inevitable  way.  And,  from  a  bee  to  Paul 
Veronese,  all  master-workers  work  with  this  awful,  this  inspired  un* 
conaciousnees. — Pt.  IV,  Ch.  7. 

OOD— THE  ONLY  FINISHER. 

5  Our  best  finishing  is  but  coarse  and  blundering  work  after  all. 
We 'may  smooth,  and  soften,  and  sharpen  till  we  are  sick  at  heart; 
but  take  a  good  magnifying  glass  to  our  miracle  of  skill,  and  tbe 
invisible  edge  is  a  jagged  saw,  and  the  sUky  thread  a  rugged  cable, 
and  the  soft  surface  a  granite  desert.  Let  all  the  ingenuity  and 
all  the  art  of  the  human  race  be  brought  to  benr  upon  the  attain- 
ment of  the  utmost  possible  finish,  and  they  cc,  Ad  not  do  what  is 
done  in  the  foot  of  a  fly,  or  the  film  of  a  bubble.  God  alone  can 
finish;  and  the  more  intelligent  the  human  mmd  becomes,  the 
more  the  infiniteness  of  interval  is  felt  betwem  human  and  divine 
srork  in  this  nspect— P«.  IV,  Ch.  9. 

INSPIBKD  MEN. 

22.  Greatness  in  art  (as  assuredly  in  all  other  things,  but  more 
distinctly  in  this  than  in  most  of  them),  is  not  a  teachable  nor 
eainable  thing,  but  the  expression  of  the  mmd  of  a  Ood-made  great 
man;  that  teach,  or  preach,  or  labor  as  you  will,  everlasting  dif- 
ference is  set  between  one  man's  capacity  and  another  s;  and  that 
this  God-given  supremacy  is  the  priceless  thing,  always  ]ust  as  rare 
in  the  world  at  one  time  as  another.  What  you  can  manufacture, 
or  communicate,  you  can  lower  the  price  of,  but  this  mental  su- 
premacy is  incommunicable;  you  will  never  multiply  its  quantity, 
nor  lower  its  piice;  and  nearly  the  best  thin^  that  men  can  gen- 
erally do  is  to  set  themselves,  not  to  the  attamment,  but  the  dis- 
covery of  this;  learning  to  know  gold,  when  we  see  it,  from  iron- 
clance,  and  diamonds  from  flint-sand,  being  for  most  of  us  a  more 
profitable  employment  than  trying  lo  make  diamonds  out  of  our 
own  charcoal.  And  for  this  God-made  supremacy,  I  generally  have 
used,  and  shall  continue  to  use.  the  word  Inspiration,  not  carelessly 
nor  li^tly,  but  in  all  logical  calmness  and  perfect  reverence. — 

Pt.  ivTch.  10. 

CHRIST  AND  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

10.  Commended  as  it  was  to  all  men  by  the  continual  practice  of 
Christ  himself,— gave  to  all  mountain  solitude  at  once  a  sanctity 
end  a  tenor,  in  the  Mediaval  mind,  which  were  altogether  differ- 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  itg 

ent  from  anything  that  it  had  possessed  in  the  on-Christian  pe- 
riods. On  the  one  side,  there  was  an  idea  of  nmctitv  attached  to 
xocky  wilderness,  because  it  had  always  been  among  hills  that  the 
Deity  had  manifested  himself  most  intimately  to  men,  and  to  the 
hills  that  His  saints  had  nearly  always  retired  for  meditation,  for 
especial  communion  with  Him,  and  to  prepare  for  death.  Men 
acquainted  with  the  history  of  Moses,  alone  at  Horeb,  or  with  Israel 
at  Sinai, — of  Elijah  by  the  brook  Cberith,  and  in  the  Horeb  cave; 
of  the  deaths  of  Moses  and  Aaron  on  Hor  and  Nebo;  of  the  prepara- 
tion of  Jephthah's  daughter  for  her  death  among  the  Judea  Mouih 
tains;  of  the  continual  retirement  of  Christ  Himself  to  the  moun- 
tains for  prayer,  His  temptation  in  the  desert  of  the  Dead  Sea,  His 
sermon  on  the  hills  of  Capernaum,  His  transfiguration  on  the  crest 
of  Tabor,  and  His  evening  and  morning  walks  over  Olivet  for  the 
four  or  five  days  preceding  His  crucifixion, — were  not  likely  to 
look  with  irreverent  or  unloving  eyes  upon  the  blue  hills  that  girded 
their  golden  horizon,  or  drew  upon  them  the  msrsterious  clouds  out 
of  the  height  of  the  darker  heaven.  But  with  this  impression  of 
their  greater  sanctity  was  involved  also  that  of  a  peculiar  terror. 
In  al;  this, — their  haunting  by  the  memories  of  prophets,  the  pres- 
ences of  angels,  and  the  everlasting  thoughts  and  words  of  the 
Redeemer, — the  mountain  ranges  seemed  separated  from  the  active 
world,  and  only  to  be  fitly  approached  by  hearts  which  were  con- 
demnatory of  it.  Just  in  so  much  as  it  appeared  necess^iry  for 
tiie  noblest  men  to  retire  to  the  hill-recesses  before  their  missions 
could  be  accomplished  or  their  spirits  perfected,  in  so  far  did  the 
daily  world  seem  by  comparison  to  be  pronounced  profane  and 
dangerous;  and  to  those  who  loved  that  world,  and  its  work,  the 
mountains  were  thus  voiceful  with  perpetual  rebuke,  and  necessarily 
contemplated  with  a  kind  of  pain  and  fear,  such  as  a  man  en- 
grossed by  vanity  feels  at  being  by  some  accident  forced  to  hear  a 
startling  sermon,  or  to  assist  at  a  funeral  service.  Every  associa- 
tion of  this  kind  was  deepened  by  the  practice  and  the  precept  of 
the  time;  and  thousands  of  hearts,  which  might  otherwise  nave 
felt  that  there  vras  loveliness  in  the  wild  landscape,  shrank  from 
it  in  dread,  because  they  knew  that  the  monk  retired  to  it  for 
pmance,  an^  the  hwmit  for  contemplation. — Pi.  IV,  Ch.  14. 


odd's  wisdom — AS  SEEN  IX  THE  GRASS  OF  THE  FIEIJ). 

61.  Gather  a  single  blade  of  grass,  and  examine  for  a  mintite, 

quietly,  its  narrow  sword-shaped  strip  of  fluted  green.  Nothing, 
as  it  seems  there,  of  notable  goodness  or  beauty.  A  very  little 
strength,  and  a  very  little  tallness,  and  a  few  delicate  long  lines 
meeting  in  a  point, — ^not  a  perfect  point  neither,  but  blunt  and 
unfinished,  by  no  means  a  creditable  or  apparently  much  cared  for 
example  of  ^store's  workmanship;  made,  as  ik  ■eemii  (olj  to  be 


S30 


THE  REUQION  OF  RVSKIN 


trodden  on  to-day,  and  to-morrow  to  be  cast  into  the  wen,  and  a 
little  pale  and  hollow  stalk,  feeble  and  flaccid,  leading  down  to  the 
dull  Cwn  fibres  of  roots.    And  yet,  think  of  it  well,  and  judge 
whether  of  all  the  gorgeous  flowers  that  beam  m  summer  air,  and 
of  all  strong  and  goodly  trees,  pleasant  to  the  eyes  and  good  for 
food.-stately  palm  and  pine,  strong  ash  and  oak,  scented  citron, 
burdened  vine.-there  be  any  by  man  so  deeply  loved,  by  God 
60  highly  graced,  as  that  narrow  point  of  feeble  green.   It  seems 
to  me  not  to  have  been  without  a  peculiar  significance,  that  our 
Lord  when  about  to  work  the  miracle  which,  of  all  that  He  showed, 
Bppe^  to  have  been  felt  by  the  multitude  as  the  most  impressive, 
J-the  miracle  of  the  loaves,— commanded  the  people  to  sit  down  by 
companies  "upon  the  green  grass."    He  was  about  to  feed  them 
with  the  principal  produce  of  earth  and  the  sea,  the  simplest  rep- 
resentations of  theVood  of  mankind.   He  ^^e  ^lem  the  ««ed  of 
the  herb  ;  He  bade  them  sit  down  upon,  thelierb  iteelf,  'which  was 
as  great  a  gift,  in  its  fitness  for  their  ]oy  and  rest,  as^te 
fruit,  for  their  sustenance;  thus,  in  this  smgle  order  and  act,  when 
rightly  understood,  indicating  for  evermore  how  the  Creator  had 
entrusted  the  comfort,  consolation,  and  sustenance  of  man.  to  the 
Slest  and  most  despised  of  all  the  leafy  families  of  the  earth. 
AnJ  welldoes  it  fulfif  its  mission.  Consider  what  we  owe  merely 
to  the  meadow  grass,  to  the  covering  of  the  dark  eround  by  that 
Sorious  enamel,  bv  the  companies  of  those  soft,  and  countless,  and 
SaceS  spears.'   The  fields!  Follow  but  forth  for  a  htUe  time 
the  thoughts  of  all  that  we  ought  to  recognize  m  t^ose  words.  All 
nring  a£d  summer  is  in  them,-the  walks  by  silent,  felted  Paths 
-the  resta  in  noonday  heat,-the  joy  .of  herds  and  flocks -the 
power  of  all  shepherd  life  and  meditation,-the  life  of  sunlight 
SJon  the  world,  falling  in  emerald  streaks,       falling  i^^^^^^^ 
fifiadows.  where  else  it  would  have  struck  upon  the  dark  mould,  or 
SoSg  dust,-pastures  beside  the  pacing  brooks,-soft  banks  and 
Sis  of  lowly  hi1l3,-thymy  slopes  of  down  overlooked  by  the  blue 
Sof  lifted?ea,-crisp  lawns  all  dim  with  early  dew,  or  smooth  m 
e^nfng  warmth  of  barred  sunshine,  dinted  by  happy  feet,  and  soft- 
Sine  fn  their  fall  the  sound  of  loving  voices;  all  tkese  are  summed 
inho  esimSe  words;  and  these  are  not  all.   We  may  not  me^- 
Se  to  heZl  the  depth  of  .this  h^ave^ly.giTt,  m  our^^^ 
though  still,  as  we  think  of  it  longer,  the  infinite  of  that  mewow 
Bweetnes^  Shakspeare's  peculiar  joy,  would  open  on  tis  more  and 
mo«ryet  we  have  it  but  in  part.    Go  out,  m  the  /pnng  time, 
^oSe  the  meadows  that  slope  from  the  shores  of  the  Swiss  kkea 
JTthlrSts  of  their  lower  mountains.    There,  singled  with  the 
Slier  jSians  and  the  white  narcissus,  the  grass  grovra  deep  and 
free   Sd  M  you  follow  the  winding  mountain  paths,  beneath 
boShs  all  vriled  and  dim  with  blossom.-paths  that  for 
S«  loS  £d  the  p«m  banks  and  mounds  sweeping 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  i»f 

down  in  scented  undulation,  steep  to  the  blue  water,  studded  here 
and  there  with  new  mown  heaps,  filling  all  the  air  with  fainter 

sweetness, — look  up  towards  the  higher  hills,  where  the  waves  of 
everlasting  green  roll  silently  into  their  long  inlets  among  the 
shadows  of  the  pines ;  and  we  may,  perhaps,  at  last  know  the  mean- 
ing of  those  quiet  words  of  the  147th  Pbalm,  "He  maketh  grass  to 
grow  upon  the  mountains." — Pt.  IV,  Ch.  14. 

SCRIPTURE  IMAGERY  IN  THE  GBASB. 

53.  As  the  grass  of  the  earth  leads  us  to  the  place  where  our 
Lord  commanded  the  multitude  to  sit  down  by  companies  upon 
the  green  grass;  so  the  grass  of  the  waters,  thought  of  as  sustain- 
ing itself  among  the  waters  of  affliction,  leads  us  to  the  place  where 
a  stem  of  it  was  put  into  our  Lord's  hand  for  his  sceptre;  and  in 
the  crown  of  thorns,  and  the  rod  of  reed,  was  foreshown  the  ever- 
lasting truth  of  the  Christian  ages — that  all  glory  was  to^be  begun 
in  suffering,  and  all  power  in  humility. 

Assembling  the  images  we  have  traced,  and  adding  the  simplest 
of  all,  from  Isaiah  xl.  6,  we  find,  the  gnas  and  flowers  are  types, 
in  their  passing,  of  the  passing  of  human  life,  and,  in  their  excel- 
lence, of  the  excellence  of  human  life;  and  this  in  a  twofold  way; 
first,  by  their  Beneficence,  and  then,  by  their  endurance: — ^the 
grass  of  the  earth,  in  giving  the  seed  of  com,  and  in  its  beauty 
under  tread  of  foot  and  stroke  of  scythe ;  and  the  grass  of  the  waters, 
in  giving  its  freshness  for  our  rest,  and  in  its  bending  before  the 
wave."  But  understood  in  the  broad  human  an^  '^'vine  sense,  the 
^'herb  yielding  seed"  (as  opposed  to  the  fruit-trc  yielding  fruit) 
includes  a  third  family  of  plants,  and  fulfils  a  third  office  to  the 
human  race.  It  includes  the  great  family  of  the  lints  and  flaxes, 
and  fulfils  thus  the  three  offices  of  giving  food,  raiment,  and  rest. 
Follow  out  this  fulfilment;  consider  the  association  of  the  linen 
garment  and  the  linen  embroidery,  with  the  priestly  office,  and 
the  furniture  of  the  tabernacle;  and  consider  how  the  rush  hai 
been,  in  all  time,  the  first  natural  carpet  thrown  under  the  human 
foot.  Then  next  observe  the  three  virtues  definitelv  set  forth  by 
the  three  families  of  plants ;  not  arbitrarily  or  fancifully  associated 
with  them,  but  in  all  the  three  cases  marked  for  us  by  Scriptural 
words: 

1st.  Cheerfulness,  or  joyful  serenity;  in  the  grass  for  food  and 
beauty. — "Consider  the  lilies  of  the  fidd,  how  they  grow;  they  toil 
not,  neither  do  they  spin." 

2d.  Humility;  in  the  gnat  tat  rest. — ^"A  braised  reed  ahaU  Mb 
not  break." 

*Sft  tbo  in  Ira 

i«  tlina  foretold:  "In  the  hiMtattott  ti  dnfoufc  wtera  lay,  iluU  b* 
tnat,  wldi  raalt  sad  rMftM." 


Its  THE  REUGION  OF  RU8KIN 

3d.  Love;  in  the  grass  for  clothing  (because  of  iti  iwill  kin- 
dling).—"The  smoking  flax  shall  He  not  quench." 

And  then,  finally  observe  the  confirmation  c  these  last  two 
images  in,  I  suppoae,  the  most  important  prophecy,  relating  to  the 
future  state  of  the  Christian  C!hurch,  which  occurs  m  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, namely,  that  contained  in  the  closing  chapters  of  EiekieL 
The  measures  of  the  Temple  of  God  are  to  be  taken ;  and  because 
it  is  only  by  charity  and  humility  that  those  measures  ever  can 
be  taken,  the  angel  has  "a  line  of  flax  in  his  hand,  and  a  measur- 
ing reed."  The  use  of  the  line  was  to  measure  the  land,  and  of  the 
leed  to  take  the  dimensions  of  the  buildinra;  so  the  buildinra  of 
the  church,  or  its  labors,  are  to  be  measured  by  hwmiUiy,  and  its 
tnritary  o»  land,  by  lov*.—Pt.  IV,  Ch.  14. 

THE  GREATNESS  OF  TKUE  HUMILITY. 

24.  I  believe  the  first  test  of  a  trulv  great  man  is  his  humility. 
I  do  not  mean,  by  humility,  doubt  of  his  own  power, 
or  hesitation  in  speaking  of  his  opinions,  but  a  nght  under- 
standing of  the  relation  between  wha*  he  can  do  and  say, 
and  the  rest  of  the  world's  sayings  and  doings.  ^1  great 
men  not  only  know  their  business,  but  usually  know  that  they 
know  it  ;  and  are  not  only  right  in  their  main  opinions,  but  they 
usually  know  that  they  are  right  in  them;  only  they  do  not  think 
much  of  themselves  on  that  account.  Arnolfo  knows  he  can  build 
*  sood  dome  at  Florence;  Albert  Durer  writes  calmly  to  one  who 
lu^  found  fault  with  his  work,  "It  cannot  be  better  done;  Sir 
Isaac  Newton  knows  that  he  has  worked  out  a  problem  or  two  that 
would  have  puzzled  anybody  else;— only  they  do  not  wtpert  their 
fellowmen  therefore  to  fall  down  and  worship  them;  they  have  a 
curious  under-sense  of  powerlessness,  feeling  that  the  greatness  is 
not  in  them,  but  through  them;  that  they  could  not  do  or  be  any- 
thkig  else  than  God  made  them.  And  they  see  somethmg  divme 
iod  God-made  in  every  other  man  they  meet,  and  an  endlMUy» 
fodiihly,  inendiUy  merciful.— P<.  IV,  Ch.  16. 

SELFISHNESS  AND  MORAL  BLINDNESS. 

9.  The  apathy  which  cannot  perceive  beauty  is  very  diffwent 
from  the  stem  energy  which  disdains  it ;  and  the  coldness  of  heart 
which  receives  no  emotion  from  external  nature,  is  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  the  wisdom  of  purpose  which  represses  emotion  m 
action.  In  the  case  of  most  men,  it  is  neither  acutenras  of  the 
reason,  nor  breadth  humanity,  which  shields  them  from  the 
impressions  of  natural  scenery,  but  rother  low  anxietieS;  vam  dis- 
contents, and  mean  pleasures;  and  for  one  who  is  blind  to  tHe 
works  of  God  by  profound  abstraction  or  lofty  purpose,  tens  of  thou- 
sands have  their  eyes  sealed  by  vulgar  selfishn^,  and  their  intel- 
UgB&oe  oratbed  hy  im^om  can.— 1^.  IV,  Ch.  17. 


BEUQI0V8  THOUGHT  IN  ART  t»3 

SANCTITY  IN  NATtTBB. 

19.  Although  then  was  no  definite  religions  sentiment  mingled 
irith  it,  there  was  a  continual  perception  of  Sanctity  in  the  whole 
of  nature,  from  the  slightest  thing  to  the  Tastest; — an  instinctiT» 
awe,  mixed  with  delight ;  an  indefinable  thrill,  snch  u  we  some- 
times imagine  to  indicate  the  presence  of  a  disembodied  spirit.  I 
could  only  feel  this  perfectly  when  I  was  alone ;  and  then  it  would 
often  make  me  shiver  from  head  to  foot  with  the  joy  and  fear  of  it, 
when  after  being  some  time  away  from  the  hills,  I  first  got  to 
the  shore  of  a  mountain  river,  where  the  brown  water  circled 
among  the  pebblea,  or  when  I  saw  the  first  swell  of  distant  land 
against  the  sunset,  or  the  first  low  broken  wall,  covered  with  moun- 
tain moss.  I  cannot  in  the  least  describe  the  feeling;  but  I  do 
not  think  this  is  my  fault,  nor  that  of  the  English  language,  for, 
I  am  afraid,  no  feeling  ia  dcscribable.  If  we  had  to  explain  even 
the  sense  of  bodily  hunger  to  a  person  who  had  nev<«r  felt  it,  we 
should  be  hard  put  to  it  for  words;  and  this  joy  in  uature  seemed 
to  me  to  come  of  a  sort  of  heart-hunger,  satisfied  with  the  pres- 
ence of  a  Great  and  Holy  Spirit.  These  feelings  remained  in 
their  full  intensity  till  I  was  ei^teen  or  twenty,  and  then,  as  the 
reflective  and  practical  power  mcreased,  and  the  "cares  of  this 
world"  gained  upon  me,  faded  gradually  away,  in  the  manner  de- 
scribed l>y  Wordsworth  in  his  Intimations  of  Immortdity. — jPt. 
IV,  Ch.  17. 

PRACTICAL  TEACHING  OP  SCKIl'TURE. 

33.  The  greater  number  of  the  words  which  are  recorded  in 
Scripture,  as  directly  spoken  to  men  by  the  lips  of  the  Deity,  an 
either  simple  revelations  of  His  law,  or  q)ecial  threatenings,  com- 
mands, and  promises  relating  to  special  events.  But  two  passages 
of  God's  speaking,  one  in  the  Old  and  one  in  the  New  Te^ment, 

Eossess,  it  seems  to  me,  a  different  character  from  any  of  the  rest, 
aving  been  uttered,  the  one  to  effect  the  last  necessary  change  in 
the  mind  of  a  man  whose  piety  was  in  other  respects  perfect;  and 
the  other,  as  the  first  statement  to  all  men  of  the  principles  of 
Christianitv  bv  Christ  Himself — I  mean  the  38th  to  41st  cn^>teit 
of  the  book  or  Job  and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Now  the  &rt 
of  these  passages  is,  from  beginning  to  end,  nothing  else  than  a 
direction  of  the  mind  which  was  to  be  perfected  to  humble  ob- 
servance of  the  works  of  God  in  nature.  And  the  other  consists 
only  in  the  inculcation  of  three  things:  1st,  right  conduct;  2nd, 
looking  for  eternal  life;  3rd,  trusting  God,  through  watchfulness 
of  his  dealings  with  His  creation:  and  the  entire  contents  of  the 
book  of  Job,  and  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  will  be  found  re- 
solvable simply  into  these  three  reauirements  from  all  men, — &at 
they  should  act  rightly,  hope  for  neaven,  and  watdi  God's  won- 
ders and  work  in  tM  earth;  the  ri|^t  oondaet  being  alwqw  smmned 


114  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKJN 

up  under  the  three  heads  of  justice,  mercy,  and  truth,  and  no  men- 
tion of  any  doctrinal  point  whatsoever  occurring  in  either  piece  of 
divine  teadiing. 

8IMPLS8T  TBUTBS  NBOLBCTED. 

34.  As  far  as  I  can  judge  of  the  ways  of  men,  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  simplest  and  most  necessary  truths  are  always  the  last 
believed;  and  I  suppose  that  well-meaning  people  in  general  would 
rather  regulate  their  conduct  and  creed  by  almost  any  other  por- 
tion of  Scripture  whatsoever,  than  hy  that  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
which  contains  the  things  that  Christ  thought  it  first  necessary 
for  e?\  men  to  understand.  Nevertheless,  I  Delieve  the  time  will 
soon  come  for  the  full  force  of  these  two  passages  of  Scripture  to  be 
accepted.  Instead  of  supposing  the  love  of  nature  nece^arily  con- 
nected with  the  faithlessness  of  the  age,  I  believe  it  is  connected 
properly  with  the  benevolence  and  liberty  of  the  age;  that  it  is 
precisely  the  most  healthy  element  which  distinctively  belongs  to 
us ;  and  that  out  of  it,  cultivated  no  longer  in  levity  or  ignorance, 
but  in  earnestness  and  as  a  duty,  results  will  spring  of  an  im- 
portance at  present  inconceivable;  and  lights  arise,  which,  for  the 
first  time  in  man's  history,  will  reveal  to  him  the  true  nature  of 
his  life,  the  true  field  for  his  energee,  and  the  true  idaticma  be- 
tween him  and  his  Maker. 

BEST  THINGS  FREE. 

35.  There  are  two  classes  of  precious  things  in  the  world:  those 
that  God  gives  us  for  nothing — sun,  air,  and  life  (both  mortal  life 
and  immortal) ;  and  the  secondarily  precious  things  which  he  gives 
us  for  a  price :  these  secondarily  precious  things,  worldly  wine  and 
milk,  can  only  be  bought  for  definite  money;  they  never  can  be 
cheapened.  No  cheating  or  bargaining  will  ever  get  a  single  thing 
out  of  nature's  "establishment"  at  hdf-price.  Do  we  want  to  be 
strong? — we  must  work.  To  be  hungry? — we  must  starve.  To  be 
happy? — we  must  be  kind.  To  be  wise? — we  must  look  and  think. 
No  changing  of  place  at  a  hundred  miles  an  hour,  nor  making  of 
stuffs  a  thousand  yards  a  minute,  will  make  us  one  whit  stronger, 
happier,  or  wiser.  There  was  always  more  in  the  world  than  men 
could  see,  walked  they  ever  so  slowly;  they  will  see  it  no  better 
for  going  fast.  And  they  will  at  ln=t,  and  soon,  too,  find  out  that 
their  grand  inventions  for  conquering  (as  they  think)  space  and 
time,  do,  in  reality,  conquer  nothing;  for  space  and  time  are,  in 
their  own  essence,  unconquerable,  and  besides  did  not  want  any 
sort  of  conquering;  they  wanted  rising.  A  fool  always  wants  to 
shorten  space  and  time:  a  wise  man  wants  to  lengthen  both.  A 
fool  wants  to  kill  space  and  kill  time:  a  wise  man,  first  to  gain 
them,  then  to  animate  them. — Pt.  IV,  Ch.  17. 


REUOIOUS  THOUOHT  IN  ART  115 

THE  BOOK  09  JOB  AND  THE  8EBM0N  ON  THE  MOUNT. 

40.  The  whole  language,  both  of  the  book  of  Job  and  the  Ser- 
mon on  the  Mount,  gives  precisely  the  view  of  nature  which  is  taken 
by  tl.  unmvestigating  affection  of  a  humble,  but  powerful  mind. 
Ihcre  IS  no  dissection  of  murelw  or  counting  of  elements,  but  the 
boldest  and  broadest  glance  at  the  apparent  facts,  and  the  most  mag- 
nificent  metaphor  in  expressing  them.  'His  eyes  are  like  the  eyelida 
of  the  morning.  In  his  neck  remnineth  strength,  and  sorrow  ia 
turned  into  joy  before  him."  And  in  the  often  repeated,  never 
obeyed,  command,  "Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,"  observe  there 
IS  precisely  the  delicate  attribution  of  life  which  we  have  seen  to 
be  the  characteristic  of  the  modem  view  of  landscape, — "They  toil 
not."  There  is  no  science,  or  hint  of  science;  no  counting  of 
petals,  nor  display  of  provisions  for  sustenance:  nothing  but  the 
ciq>re8Sion  of  sympathy,  at  once  the  most  childish,  and  the  moat 
profound,— "They  toU  not."— P*.  iV.  Ch.  17.       '     "  "'^ 

NATTTRE  SPE^VKS  TO  THE  NOBLE  LIFE. 

41.  When  the  active  life  is  nobly  fulfilled,  and  the  mind  is 
then  raised  beyond  it  into  clear  an-  ji  beholding  of  the  world 
around  us,  the  simplest  forms  of  na  .are  strangely  animated  by 
*"l!f°  u  ?i  Pi^'^i®  presence;  the  trees  and  flowera  seem  all,  in 
•  sort,  children  of  God;  and  we  ourselves,  their  fellows,  made  out  of 
the  same  dust,  and  greater  than  they  only  in  having  a  greater 
portion  of  the  Divine  power  exerted  on  our  frame,  and  all  the 
common  uses  and  palpably  visible  forms  of  things,  become  subor- 
dmate  in  our  minds  to  their  inner  glory,— to  the  mysterious  voices 
m  wHich  they  talk  to  us  about  God,  and  the  changeful  and  typical 
aspects  by  which  they  witness  to  us  of  holy  truth,  and  fiU  ua  with 
obedient,  joyful,  and  thankful  emotion.— K  IV,  Ch.  17. 

CAUSES  09  WAX. 

nP^tL  ^         '"V*'  ^  '"justice  on  one  side 

«JJ  °?  There  have  been  wars  which  were  little 

more  than  trials  of  strength  between  friendly  nations,  and  in  which 
the  injustice  was  not  to  each  other,  but  to  L  God  ^ho  gaJe  them 
1  fe.   But  m  a  mali^ant  war  of  these  present  ages  theii  is  injus- 

stemmed  for  both  their  sakea.  It  may,  indeed,  be  so  involved  with 
na  lonal  prejudices,  or  ign<»ance8,  that  neither  of  the  contendinir 
nations  can  conceive  it  as  attaching  to  their  cause;  nay,  the  con- 
V  g^i:ra™ents,  and  the  clumsy  crookedn:es8  of  their 
political  dealings  with  each  other,  may  be  such  as  to  prevent  either 

to  J^^pr/F,"??!"?*.         «~    '''^  ttoy  ««»a» 


u$  THE  RELiaiON  OF  RV8K1N 

OERMAK  PBnX)80PHY  NOT  NECX8BABY  TO  CHBISTUK  TBUTH.  . 

It  is  also  often  declared  necessary  to  study  the  German  controver- 
eialKxt!^,  btcauiie  the  grounds  of  rehgion  "must  be  inquired  into."  I 
am  sorry  to  hear  they  have  not  been  inquired  into  yet ;  but  if  it  be 
■0^  there  are  two  ways  of  pursuing  that  inquiry :  one  for  scholarly 
HMD,  who  have  leimue  on  their  hand*,  by  reading  all  that  they 
have  time  to  read,  for  and  against,  and  arming  themselves  at  all 
points  for  controversy  with  all  persons;  the  other, — a  shorter  and 
einipler  way, — for  busy  and  practical  men,  who  want  merely  to 
find  out  how  to  live  and  die.  Now  for  the  learned  and  leisurely 
men  I  am  not  writing:  the^  know  what  and  how  to  read  better 
than  I  can  tell  them.  For  simple  and  busy  men,  concerned  much 
with  art,  which  is  eminently  a  practical  matter,  and  fatigues  tlM 
eyes,  so  as  render  much  reading  inexpedient,  1  am  writmgr;  and 
such  men  i  do,  to  the  utmost  of  my  power,  dissuade  from  meddling 
with  German  books;  not  because  I  fear  inquiry  into  the  grounds  of 
religion,  but  because  the  only  inquiry  which  is  pouible  to  them 
must  be  conducted  in  a  totally  different  way.  They  have  been 
brought  up  as  Christians,  and  doubt  if  they  should  remain  Chris- 
tians. They  cannot  ascertain,  b^  investigation,  if  the  Bible  be  true; 
but  if  it  be,  and  Christ  ever  oosted,  and  was  God,  thni,  certainly, 
the  Sermon  which  He  has  permitted  for  1800  yean  to  stand  re- 
corded as  first  of  all  His  own  teaching  in  the  New  Testament,  must 
be  true.  Let  them  take  that  Sermon  and  give  it  fair  practical 
trial:  act  out  every  verse  of  it,  with  no  quibbling  or  en>Iaining 
away,  except  the  reduction  of  such  evidently  metaphorical  expres- 
sions as  "cuL  off  vjy  foot,"  "pluck  the  beam  out  of  thine  eye,  to 
their  effectively  practical  sense.  Let-  them  act  out,  or  ol>ey,  every 
verse  literally  for  a  whole  year,  so  far  as  they  can, — a  year  being 
little  enough  time  to  give  to  an  inquiry  into  religion;  and  if,  at 
the  end  of  the  year,  they  are  not  satisfied,  and  still  need  to  prose- 
cute the  inquiry,  let  ihem  try  the  German  system  if  they  choose. 
— Afpendix  II,  Gemsit  PJUweopJky. 


IV 

MODERN  PAINTERS. 
Vol.  IV.  (1866.) 

Tut  V.  Or  MouKTAur  Bbaittt— 20  Chaiw. 

Tiom  the  <vi«wtwint  of  this  worit  of  psychological  inquiry  and 
selection  the  fourth  volume  of  Modem  Painters  is  the  greatest  of 
them  all.  It  is  a  product  of  the  same  ten  years  of  labor  as  the  third 
vdtmM,  and  was  issued  only  three  months  later,  viz. :  March,  1856. 
It  is  illustrated  with  no  less  than  34  plates  and  116  figures. 

"Mountain  Beauty,"  the  general  subject  of  the  volume,  lends 
itself  easily,  in  the  hands  of  Ruskin,  to  a  series  of  chapters  on  the 
Creation  which  are  •■orb  beauty  and  of  rare  mine  to  all  teachers 
of  moral  and  relig^  !  .uths.  We  find  it  necessary  to  our  pur- 
pose to  give  almost  the  whole  of  the  chapter  on  "The  Firmament" 
and  "The  Dry  Land,"  and  the  concluding  portions  of  "The  Moun- 
tain Glory,"  only  dividing  them  with  side-headings  according  to  the 
general  plan  of  this  work. 

SANCTITY  OF  COLOR  IN  THE  8CRIPTURE8. 

24.  The  ascertainment  of  the  sanctity  of  color  is  not  left  to  human 
sagacity.  It  is  distinctly  stated  in  Scripture.  I  have  before  alluded 
to  the  sacred  ehord  of  coIot  (blue,  purple,  and  scarlet,  with  white 
and  gold)  as  ^pointed  in  the  Tabernacle;  this  chord  is  the  fixed 
base  of  all  coloring  with  the  workmen  of  every  great  age;  .  .  . 
In  this  chord  the  scarlet  is  the  powerful  color,  and  is  on  the  whole 
the  most  perfect  representation  of  abstract  color  which  exists;  blue 
bf^ing  in  a  certain  degree  associated  with  shade,  yellow  with  light, 
and  scarlet,  as  absolute  color,  standing  alone.  Accordingly,  we  find 
it  used,  together  with  cedar  wood,  hyssop,  and  running  water,  as 
en  emblem  of  purification,  in  Leviticus  xiv.  4,  and  other  places, 
and  so  used  not  merely  as  the  representative  of  the  color  of  Wood, 
since  it  was  also  to  be  dipped  in  the  actual  blood  of  a  living  bird. 
So  that  the  cedar  wood  for  its  perfume,  the  hyssop  for  its  search- 
ingness,  the  water  for  its  cleansing,  and  the  scarlet  for  its  kindling 
or  enlightening,  are  all  used  as  tokens  of  sanctification  ;*  and  it  can- 

'Tbe  wdwBwd  Rmhab  bound  for  •  ilcn  a  toaiU*  timad  In  the  window.  OooK 
put  GnttdM  tv.  9^ 


Ebkt  <.<.•  ui.' 


128  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

not  be  with  any  force  alleged,  in  opposition  to  this  definite  appoint- 
ment, that  scarlet  is  used  indctontally  to  illustrate  the  stain  of  sin, 
"though  thy  sins  be  as  scarlet,"  any  more  than  it  could  be  received 
as  a  diminution  of  the  authority  for  using  snow-whiteness  as  a 

type  01  purity,  that  Gehazi's  leprosy  is  described  as  being  as  "white 
as  snow."  An  incidental  image  has  no  authoritative  meaning,  but 
a  stated  ceremonial  appointment  has :  besides,  we  have  the  reversed 
image  given  distinctly  in  Prov.  x-ixi. :  "She  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow 
for  her  household,  for  all  her  household  ate  clothed  with  scarlet." 
And,  again :  "Ye  daughters  of  Israel,  weep  over  Saul,  who  clothed 
you  in  scarlet,  with  other  delights."  So,  also,  the  arraying  of  the 
mystic  Babylon  in  purple  and  scarlet  may  be  interpreted  exactly 
as  we  choose :  either,  by  those  who  think  color  sensual,  as  an  image 
of  earthly  pomp  and  guilt,  or,  by  those  who  think  it  sacred,  as  an 
image  of  assumed  or  pretended  sanctity.  It  is  possible  the  two 
meanings  may  be  blended,  and  the  idea  may  be  that  the  purple  and 
fine  linen  of  Dives  are  worn  in  hypocritical  semblance  of  the  pur- 
ple and  fine  linen  of  the  hig^  priest,  being,  nevertheless,  themsuvts, 
in  all  cases  typical    all  beauty  and  purity. — Pt.  V,  Ch.  S. 

TBM  FIRMAMXirr — TH2  OBKTOS  ACCOtniT. 

2.  The  account  given  of  the  stages  of  Creation  in  the  first  chapter 
of  Genesis,  is  in  every  rwpect  clear  and  intelligible  to  the  simplest 
reader,  except  in  the  statement  of  the  work  of  the  second  day.  I 
suppose  that  this  statement  is  passed  over  by  careless  readers  witl^ 
out  an  endeavor  to  understand  it ;  and  contemplated  by  simple  uid 
faithful  readers  as  a  sdblime  mystery,  which  was  not  intended 
to  be  understood.  But  there  is  no  inystery  in  any  other  part  of 
the  chapter,  and  it  seenH  to  me  nnjort  to  ocmdoae  that  any  wai 
intended  here.  .  . 

And  the  passage  ought  to  be  peculiarly  mterestmg  to  us  as  being 
the  first  in  the  Bible  in  which  the  heavent  are  named,  and  the  only 
one  in  which  the  word  "Hwiven,"  all  important  as  that  word  is  to 
our  understanding  of  the  most  ptecioos  promises  M  Scripture,  re- 
ceives a  definite  explanation.  . 

3.  In  the  first  place,  the  English  word  "Firmament"  itself  is 
obscure  and  useless ;  because  we  never  employ  it  but  as  a  synonym  of 
heaven;  it  conveys  no  other  distinct  idea  to  us;  and  the  verse,  though 
from  our  familiarity  with  it  we  imagine  that  it  possesses  meaning, 
has  in  reality  no  more  point  or  value  than  if  it  were  written,  God 
said,  let  there  be  a  something  in  the  midst  of  the  waters,  and  God 
called  the  something  Heaven."  .     ..  ,      ,  «         ,  j 

But  the  marginal  reading,  "Expansion,"  has  definite  value;  ana 
the  statement  that  "God  said,  let  there  be  an  expansion  in  the  midst 
of  the  waters,  and  God  called  the  w^andtm  Heaven,"  has  an 
Iwnsible  meaning. 


EEUQ10V8  THOUOHT  IN  ART  129 

4.  Accepting  this  expression  as  the  one  intended,  we  have  next 
to  ask  what  expansion  there  is,  between  two  waters,  describable  by 
the  term  Heaven.  Milton  adopts  the  term  "expanse;"'  but  he 
understands  it  of  the  whole  volume  of  the  air  which  surrounds  the 
earth.  Whereas,  so  far  as  we  can  tell,  there  is  no  water  beyond  the 
air,  in  the  fields  of  space;  and  the  whole  expression  of  division  of 
waters  from  waters  is  thus  rendered  valueless.— P(.  V,  Ch.  6. 


QOD  IN  THE  CLOUDS. 

5.  Now,  with  respect  to  this  whole  chapter,  we  must  remember 
alwa^  that  it  is  intended  for  the  instruction  of  all  mankind,  not 
for  the  learned  reader  only;  and  that,  therefore,  the  most  simple 
and  natural  interpretation  is  the  likeliest  in  general  to  be  the  true 
one.  An  unscientific  reader  knows  little  about  the  manner  in  which 
the  volume  of  the  atmosphere  surrounds  the  earth;  but  I  imagine 
that  he  could  hardly  glance  at  the  sky  when  rain  was  falling  in  the 
^stance,  and  see  the  level  line  of  the  bases  of  the  clouds  from  which 
the  Aumtet  descended,  without  hein^  able  to  attach  an  instant  and 
easy  meaning  to  the  words,  "Expansion  in  the  midst  of  the  waters." 
And  if,  havmg  once  seized  this  idea,  he  proceeded  to  examine  it 
more  accurately,  he  would  perceive  at  once,  if  he  had  ever  noticed 
mything  of  the  nature  of  clouds,  that  the  level  line  of  their  bases 
did  indeed  most  severely  and  stringently  divide  "waters  from 
waters,"  that  is  to  say,  divide  water  in  its  collective  and  tangible 
state,  from  water  in  its  divided  and  aerial  state;  or  the  waters  wnich 
lall  and  How,  from  those  which  rise  «nd  float.  Next,  if  we  try  this 
interpretation  in  the  theological  sense  of  the  word  Heaven,  and 
examine  whether  the  clouds  are  spoken  of  as  God's  dwelling-place, 
we  find  God  going  before  the  Israelites  in  a  pillar  of  cloud;  reveal- 
ing Himself  in  a  cloud  on  Sinai ;  appearing  in  a  cloud  on  the  mercy- 
seat;  filling  the  Temple  of  Solomon  with  the  cloud  when  its  dedica- 
tion is  accepted ;  appearing  in  a  great  cloud  to  Ezekiel ;  ascending 
into  a  cloud  before  the  eyes  of  the  disciples  on  Mount  Olivet;  and  in 
like  manner  returning  to  Judgment.  "Behold,  he  cometh  with 
clouds,  and  every  eye  shall  see  him."  "Then  shall  they  see  the  son 
of  man  coming  in  the  clouds  of  heaven,  with  power  and  great 
glory."*  While  farther,  the  "clouds"  and  "heavens"  are  used  as 
interchangeable  words  in  those  Psalms  which  most  distinctly  set 

*  "God  mad* 

The  firmament,  ezpanse  of  liquid,  pure, 

TraoBparent,  elemental  air,  diffuied 

la  circuit  to  the  nttermoat  convex 

Of  this  great  round."         —"Paradiie  Lo$t,"  book  tH. 

m 'JP* .ir^'  'i'  ^^J^"  followln*  texts,  which  It  la  needless  to  quote: 

Exod.  10.  x^«>.«lT^  nxlv.  8,  LtTlt  xri.  2.  Num.  1  94, 

u^T  utv  i  \       tJH.  1ft  a*.  L«.i)to.Tfi.tt,ifatt.2iv.a(MTb«i 


IMfiiiiiiHMM 


130  THE  RELIGION  OF  BUSKIN 

forth  the  power  of  God:  "He  bowed  the  heavens  also,  and  came 
down;  he  made  darkness  pavihons  round  about  him,  dark  waters, 
and  thick  clouds  of  the  skies."  And,  again :  "Thy  mercy,  Oh  Lord, 
is  in  the  heavens,  and  thy  faithfulness  reacheth  unto  the  clouds." 
Ai^  again:  "His  excellency  is  over  Israel,  and  his  strength  is  in 
the  clouds."  Again:  "The  clouds  poured  out  water,  the  skies  sent 
out  p.  sound,  the  voice  of  thy  thunaer  was  in  the  heaven."  Again : 
"Clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about  him,  righteoosness  and  judg- 
ment are  the  habitation  of  his  throne ;  the  heavens  dfldan  bis  rifi^ 
eousness,  and  all  the  people  see  his  glory." 

HB  "bowed  the  heavens." 

6.  In  all  these  passages  the  meaning  is  unmistakable,  if  they 

ftossess  definite  meaning  at  all.  We  are  too  apt  to  take  them  merely 
or  sublime  and  vague  imagery,  and  therefore  gradually  to  lose  the 
apprehension  of  their  life  and  power.  The  expression,  "He  bowed 
the  Heavens,"  for  instance,  is,  I  suppose,  received  by  most  readers 
as  a  magnificent  hyperbole,  having  reference  to  some  peculiar  and 
fearful  manifestation  of  God's  power  to  the  writer  of  the  Psalm 
in  which  the  wends  occur.  But  the  expression  either  has  plain  mean- 
ing, or  it  has  no  meaning.  Understand  by  the  term  "Heaven"  the 
compass  of  infinite  space  around  the  earth,  and  the  expression, 
"bowed  the  Heavens,"  however  sublime,  is  wholly  without  meaning; 
infinite  space  cannot  be  bent  or  bowed.  But  understand  by  the 
"Heavens"  the  veil  of  clouds  above  the  earth,  and  the  expression  is 
neithe.'  hyperbolical  nor  obscure;  it  is  pure,  plain,  and  accurate 
truth,  and  it  describes  God,  not  as  revealing  Himself  in  any  peculiar 
way  to  David,  but  doing  what  he  is  still  doing  before  our  own  eyes 
day  by  day.  By  accepting  the  words  in  their  simple  sense,  we  are 
thus  led  to  apprehend  the  immediate  presence  of  the  Deity,  and  His 
purpose  of  manifesting  Himself  as  near  us  whenever  the  storm- 
cloud  stoops  upon  its  course;  while  by  our  vague  and  inaccurate 
acceptance  of  the  words  we  remove  the  idea  of  His  presence  far 
from  us,  into  a  region  which  we  can  neither  see  nor  know;  and 
gradually,  from  the  close  realization  of  a  living  God  who  "maketh 
the  clonds  his  chariot,"  we  refine  and  explain  ourselves  into  dim 
and  distant  suspicion  of  aa  inactive  God,  inhabiting  inconceivable 
places,  and  fading  into  the  multitudinoos  formalisms  of  the  laws  fd 
Katare. 

BY  SEARCHING  WE  CANNOT  FIND  OUT  GOD. 

7.  All  errors  of  this  kind  arise  from  the  originally  mistaken  idea 
that  man  can,  "by  searching,  find  out  God— find  out  the  Almighty  to 
perfection ;"  that  is  to  say,  by  help  of  courses  of  reasoning  and  ao- 
cumulations  of  science,  apprehend  the  nature  of  the  Deity  m  a 
more  exalted  and  more  accurate  manner  than  in  a  state  of  conipara- 
tive  ignorance;  whereas  it  is  clearly  necessary,  from  the  beginning  to 
the  end  of  time,  that  God's  way  of  revealing  Himself  to  His  crea- 


RELIGIOUS  THOVOHT  IN  ART 


tares  should  be  a  timple  way,  which  all  those  creatures  may  nnder> 

stand.  Whether  taught  or  untaught,  whether  of  mean  capacity  or 
enlarged,  it  is  necessary  that  communion  with  their  Creator  should 
be  possible  to  all;  and  the  admission  to  such  communion  must  be 
rested,  not  on  their  having  a  knowledge  of  astronomy,  but  on  their 
having  a  human  soul.  In  order  to  render  this  communion  possi- 
ble, the  Deity  has  stooped  from  His  throne,  and  has  not  only,  in  the 
person  of  the  Son,  taken  upon  Him  the  veil  of  our  human  fleah, 
but,  in  the  person  of  the  Father,  taken  upon  Him  the  veil  of  our 
human  thoughts,  and  permitted  us,  by  His  own  spoken  authority,  to 
conceive  Him  simply  and  clearly  as  a  loving  Father  and  Friend ; — a 
bein^  to  be  walked  with  and  reasoned  with ;  to  be  moved  by  our  en- 
treaties, angered  by  our  rebellion,  alienated  by  our  coldness,  pleased 
by  our  love,  and  glorified  by  our  labor;  and,  finally  to  be  beheld  in 
immediate  and  active  presence  in  all  the  powers  and  changes  of 
creation.  This  conception  of  God,  which  is  the  child's,  is  evidently 
the  only  one  which  can  be  universal,  and  therefore  the  only  one 
which  for  ua  can  be  true.  The  moment  that,  in  our  pride  of  heart, 
we  refuse  to  accept  the  condescension  of  the  Almighty,  and  desire 
Him,  instead  of  stooping  o  hold  our  hands,  to  rise  up  before  us  into 
His  glory, — we  hoping  that  by  standing  on  a  grain  of  dust  or  two 
of  human  knowledge  higher  than  our  fellows,  we  may  behold  the 
Creator  as  He  rises, — God  takes  us  at  our  word;  He  rises,  into  His 
own  invisible  and  inconceivable  majesty;  He  goes  forth  upon  the 
ways  which  are  not  our  ways,  and  retires  into  the  thoughts  which 
are  not  our  thoughts ;  and  we  are  left  alone.  And  presently  we  say 
in  oar  nun  hearts,  "There  is  no  God." 


GOD  S  OWN  ACCOUKT  OF  CREATION. 

8.  I  would  desire,  therefore,  to  receive  God's  account  of  His 
own  creation  as  under  the  ordinary  limits  of  human  knowledge  and 
imagination  it  would  be  received  by  a  simply  minded  man ;  and  find- 
ing that  the  "heavens  and  the  earth"  are  spoken  of  always  as  having 
something  like  equal  relation  to  each  other  ("thus  the  heavens  and 
the  earth  were  finished,  and  all  the  host  of  them"),  I  reject  at  once 
all  idea  of  the  term  "Heavens"  being  intended  to  signify  the  infinity 
of  space  inhabited  bv  countless  worlds;  for  between  those  infinite 
hMvens  and  the  particle  of  sand,  which  not  the  earth  only,  but  the 
sun  itself,  with  ail  the  solar  system,  is  in  relation  to  them,  no  rela- 
tion of  equality  or  comparison  could  be  inferred.  But  I  suppose 
the  heavens  to  mean  that  part  of  creation  which  holds  equal  com- 
panionship with  our  globe;  I  understand  the  "rolling  of  those 
heavens  together  as  a  scroll"  to  be  an  equal  and  relative  destruction 
with  the  "melting  of  the  elements  in  fervent  heat;"*  and  I  under- 

iCompai*  alw  Job  znri.  20,  'Tht  tpnidiat  of  tbt  etonds,  mi  tte  aohit  ot 

thoa  Mt  tk«  awlaiwi  ttHMt  ta  ttt  «wA9  flUMt  tkM  Bit  •»  tky  wtat  te  the 


i3»  J  HE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

■tand  the  making  the  firmament  to  signify  that,  ao  far  as  man  i» 
concerned,  most  magnificent  ordinance  oT the  clouda'-Se  orSi^ 
that  as  the  great  plain  of  waters  was  formed  on  the  face  of  tKart? 
so  also  a  plamofwaters  should  be  stretched  along  thfhe  ght  ofdr 
and  the  face  of  the  cloud  answer  the  face  of  the  ocean :  3hat  thS 
upner  and  heavenly  plain  should  be  of  waters,  as  it  were  glorified  iS 
tfieir  nature,  no  longer  quenching  the  fire,  but  now  bSifng  fiS  S 
their  own  bosoms  ;  no  longer  murmuring  only  when  the  wi£d8  raise 
Zuf'  ^T^''  ^"^^  each  other  with  their  o^vdSS 

JnT^jSr  r'"'  u""  longer  restrained  by  established  shores/aS 
guided  through  unchanging  channels,  but  going  forth  at  theiTpleaS 
ure  like  the  armies  of  the  angels,  and  ch(^sin|  their  encampmeS 

hS^i^l^/^^'J'"']'''*  ".^^^^^  accumulation  of  the  abys' 
but  covering  the  east  and  west  with  the  waving  of  their  wines  and 

^S?  o?'wfcK  ^  ^  vesture  of^diJS; 

OOD  RBVEAL8  HIMSELF  IN  THE  HEAVENS. 

lo  m-'^if;  ]  H  ?e  ordnance  of  the  firmament ;  and  it  seems 

n^^™  '°  ^^^of  the  material  nearness  of  these  heavens 
God  means  us  to  acknowledge  His  own  immediate  presence  as  visitJ 

Zn^»^^'i^;if°'*  ^^""'^^S  1T^^  '^^^>  ♦^he  heavens  dso 
;3»  '  5^  P'^''"''®  ?^  9°^'  H«  set  His  bow  in  the 
cloud  and  thus  renews,  m  the  sound  of  every  drooping  swathe  of 
^If^  ^J^"^^  of  everhurting  love.  "In  them  hath  he%et  a  tabei 
Z,t  ''^'^  N™ing,ba">  which  without  the  firma- 

ment  would  be  seen  as  an  intolerable  and  scorching  circle  in  the 
S^^fnn*^  i  vacuity,  IS  by  that  firmament  surrounded  with  gorgeous 
service,  and  tempered  by  mediatorial  ministries;  by  t'  ?  firmament 
of  clouds  the  golden  pavement  is  spread  for  his  chanot  wheeU  at 
morning;  by  the  firmament  of  clouds  the  temple  is  bmlt  for  his 
prince  to  fill  with  light  at  noon;  bv  the  firmLent  ofTlouS  the 
purple  veil  18  closed  at  evening  round  the  sanctuary  of  his  rest;  bv 
the  muts  of  the  firmament  his  implacable  light  is  divided,  and  its 
separated  fi«ceness  appeared  into  the  soft  blue  that  fills  the  depth  of 
distance  with  i  s  bloom^and  the  flush  with  which  the  mountains  bum 
JfJSZ^?*J  overflowing  of  the  dayspring.  And  in  this  taber- 
nacling of  the  unendurable  sun  with  men,  through  the  shadows  of 
tlie  firmament,  God  would  seem  to  set  forth  the  stoopinjr  of  His 
ovra  majesty  to  men,  upon  the jArons  of  the  firmament.  As  the 
g«ator  of  all  the  worlds  and  the  Inhabiter  of  eternity,  we  cannot 
behold  Him ;  but,  as  the  Judge  of  the  earth  and  the  Prese^er  of  men 
those  heaven=5  are  indeed  His  dwelling-place.  "Swear  not,  neither 
by  heaven,  for  it  is  God's  throne;  nor  by  the  earth,  for  it  is  his 


RELIOIOVS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  (133 

footstool."  And  all  those  passings  to  and  fro  of  fruitful  shower  and 

Sateful  shade,  and  all  those  visions  of  silver  palaces  built  about 
e  horison,  and  voices  of  nuMning  winds  and  threatening  thunden^ 
and  Tories  of  colored  robe  and  cloven  ray,  are  but  to  deepen  in  our 
hearts  the  acceptance,  and  distinctness,  and  deamess  of  the  nmpte 
words,  "Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven." — Pt  V,  Ch.  6. 

GENESIS  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  DRY  LAND. 

1.  The  words  which  marked  for  us  the  purpose  of  the  clouds  are 
followed  immediately  by  those  notable  ones:  "And  God  said.  Let 
the  waters  which  are  under  the  heaven  be  gathered  together  unto  one 
place,  and  let  the  dry  land  appear." 

We  do  not,  perhaps,  often  enough  consider  the  deep  si^ificanoa 
of  this  sentence.  We  are  too  apt  to  receive  it  as  the  descripticm  of 
an  event  vaster  only  in  its  extent,  not  in  its  nature,  than  the  com- 
pelling the  Red  Sea  to  draw  back,  that  Israel  might  pass  by.  We  im* 
agine  the  Deity  in  like  manner  rolling  the  waves  of  the  greater 
ocean  together  on  a  heap,  and  setting  bars  and  doors  to  them  eter> 

But  there  is  a  far  deeper  meaning  than  this  in  the  solemn  words 
of  Genesis,  and  in  the  correspondent  verse  of  the  Psalm,  "His  hands 
piemred  the  dry  land."  Up  to  that  moment  the  earth  had  been 
voia,  for  it  had  been  without  form.  The  command  that  the  waten 
should  be  gathered  was  the  command  that  the  earth  should  be 
sculptured.  The  sea  was  not  driven  to  his  place  in  suddenly  re- 
stramed  rebellion,  but  withdrawn  to  his  place  in  perfect  and  patient 
obedience.  The  dry  land  appeared,  not  in  level  sands,  forsaken 
by  the  surges,  which  those  surges  might  again  claim  for  their  own ; 
but  in  ranae  beyond  range  of  swelling  hill  and  iron  rock,  forever  to  - 
claim  kincbed  with  the  firmament,  and  be  eonqwnioned  ths 
d(m&  of  hmimi. 

THE  "day"  of  QBNB8I8. 

2.  What  space  of  time  was  in  reality  occupied  by  the  "day"  of 

Grenesis,  is  not  at  present,  of  any  importance  for  us  to  consider.  By 
what  furnaces  of  fire  the  adamant  was  melted,  and  by  what  wheels 
of  earthquake  it  was  torn,  and  by  what  teeth  of  glacier  and  weight 
of  sea-waves  it  was  engraven  and  finished  into  its  perfect  form,  we 
may  perhaps  hereafter  endeavor  to  conjecture;  but  here,  as  in  few 
words  the  work  is  summed  by  the  historian,  so  in  few  broad  thouf^ts 
it  should  be  comprehended  oy  us;  and  as  we  read  the  mighty  sen- 
tence. "Let  the  dry  land  appear,"  we  should  try  to  follow  the  finger 
of  God,  as  it  engraved  upon  the  stone  tables  of  the  earth  the  letters 
and  the  law  of  its  everlasting  form ;  as  gulf  by  gulf,  the  channels  of 
the  deep  were  ploughed;  and  cape  by  cape,  the  lines  were  traced,  with 
Divine  foreknowledge,  of  the  shon»  that  were  to  limit  the  nations: 
•nd  chain  by  chain,  the  mountain  walls  were  lengthened  forth,  ana 


134  THE  RELIGION  VF  RUSKIN 

their  foundations  fastened  forcvex  ;  end  ihe  compass  was  set  upon 
the  face  of  the  depth,  and  the  l^eldf .  end  the  highest  part  of  the  dust 
of  the  world  were  made;  and  the  risht  hand  of  Chnst  first  strewed 
^e  mow  of  Lebanon,  and  smoothed  the  Aapea  of  Calvary. 

THB  WISDOM  AND  LOVB  OF  CBEATION. 

3.  It  is  not,  I  repeat,  alwajrs  needful,  in  many  respects  it  is  not 
possible,  to  conjecture  the  manner,  or  the  time,  in  which  this  work 
,was  done;  but  it  is  deeply  necessary  for  all  men  to  consider  the 
magnificence  of  the  accomplished  purpose,  and  the  depth  of  the  wis- 
dom and  love  which  are  manifested  m  the  ordinances  of  the  hills. 
For  observe,  in  order  to  bring  the  world  into  the  form  which  it  now 
bears,  it  was  not  mere  tculpture  that  was  needed ;  the  mountains  could 
not  stand  for  a  day  unless  they  were  formed  of  materials  altogether 
different  from  those  which  constitute  the  lower  hills,  and  the  sur- 
faces of  the  valleys.  A  harder  substance  had  to  be  prepared  for 
every  mountain  chain ;  yet  not  so  hard  but  that  it  might  be  capable 
of  crumbling  down  into  earth  fit  to  nourish  the  alpine  forest  and  the 
alpine  flower;  not  so  hard  but  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  utmost  majes- 
ty of  its  enthroned  strength,  there  should  be  seen  on  it  the  seal  of 
death,  and  the  writing  of  the  same  sentence  that  had  gone  forth 
against  the  human  frame,  "Dust  thou  art,  and  unto  dust  thou  shalt 
return."  And  with  this  perishable  substance  the  most  majestic  forms 
were  to  be  framed  that  were  consistent  with  the  safety  of  man ;  and 
the  peak  was  to  be  lifted,  and  the  cliff  rent,  as  high  and  as  steeply  as 
was  possible,  in  order  yet  to  permit  the  shepheiS  to  feed  his  flocki 
upon  the  slope,  and  the  cottage  to  nestle  beneath  their  shadow. 

god's  provision  in  the  mountains. 

4.  And  observe,  two  distinct  ends  were  to  be  accomplished  in  the 
doing  this.  It  was,  indeed,  absolutely  necessary  that  such  eminences 
should  be  created,  in  order  to  fit  the  earth  in  any  wise  for  human 
habitation ;  for  without  mountains  the  air  could  not  be  purified,  nor 
the  flowing  of  the  rivers  sustained,  and  the  earth  must  nave  become 
for  the  most  part  desert  plain,  or  stagnant  mardi.  But  the  feeding  of 
the  rivers  and  the  purifying  of  the  winds  are  the  least  of  the  services 
appointed  to  the  hills.  To  fill  the  thirst  of  the  human  heart  for  the 
beauty  of  God's  working. — to  startle  its  lethargy  with  the  deep  and 
pure  agitation  of  astonishment, — are  their  higher  missions.  They 
are  as  a  great  and  noble  architecture ;  first  giving  shelter,  comfort, 
and  rest;  and  covered  also  with  mighty  sculpture  and  painted  legend. 

MOUNTAINS  GIVE  MOTION  TO  WATER. 

5.  Deep  calleth  unto  deep.  I  know  not  which  of  the  two  is  the 
more  wonderful, — that  calm,  gradated,  invisibfe  dope  of  the  cham" 
paign  land,  which  gives  motion  to  the  rtiMm;  wr  tlttt  pMMgt  doven 


REUaiOVB  THOUGHT  IN  ART  ISS 

for  it  through  the  ranks  of  hill,  which,  neoeasary  for  the  health  ci 

the  land  immediately  around  them,  would  yet,  unless  so  >^«^ 
naturally  divided,  have  fatally  intercepted  the  flow  of  the  waters  ftom 
far-oflf  countries.  When  did  the  great  spirit  of  the  river  first  knock 
at  those  adamantine  gates?  When  did  the  porter  open  to  it,  and 
cast  his  keys  away  forever,  lapped  in  whirhng  sand?   I  am  not 
satisfied— no  one  should  be  satisfied— with  that  vague  answer,— the 
river  cuts  its  way.  Not  so.  The  river /ottnd  its  way.  I  do  not  see  that 
rivers,  in  their  own  strength,  can  do  much  in  cutting  thar  way; 
they  are  nearly  as  apt  to  choke  their  channels  up,  as  to  carve  them 
out.   Only  give  a  river  some  little  sudden  power  in  a  valley,  and 
see  how  it  will  use  it.  Cut  itself  a  bed?  Not  so,  by  any  means,  but 
fill  up  its  bed,  and  look  for  another,  in  a  wild,  dissatisfied,  mcon- 
listent  manner.  Any  way,  rather  than  the  old  one,  will  better  please 
it;  and  even  if  it  is  banked  up  and  forced  to  keep  to  the  old  one,  it 
will  not  deepen,  but  do  all  it  can  to  raise  it,  and  leiq)  out  of  it.  And 
although,  wherever  water  has  a  steep  fall,  it  will  swiftly  cut  itoelf 
a  bed  deep  into  the  rock  or  ground,  it  will  not,  when  the  rock  is 
hard,  cut  a  wider  channel  than  it  actually  needs;  so  that  if  the  exist- 
ing river  beds,  through  ranges  of  mountain,  had  in  reality  been  cut 
by  the  streams,  they  would  be  found,  wherever  the  rocks  are  hard, 
only  in  the  form  of  narrow  and  profound  ravines,— like  the  well- 
known  channel  of  the  Niagara,  below  the  fall ;  not  in  that  of  extended 
valleys.  And  the  actual  work  of  true  mountain  rivers,  though  often 
much  greater  in  proportion  to  their  body  of  water  than  that  of  titB 
Niagara,  is  quite  insignificant  when  compared  with  the  area  and 
d^Ui  of  the  valleys  through  which  they  flow;  so  that,  although  in 
many  caaes  it  appears  that  those  larger  valleys  have  been  excavated  at 
earlier  p«io&  Dy  more  powerful  streams,  or  by  the  existing  stream 
in  a  more  powerful  condition,  still  the  great  fact  remains  alwaj^ 
equally  plain,  and  equally  admirable,  that,  whatever  the  nature  and 
duration  of  the  agencies  employed,  the  earth  was  so  shaped  at  first  M 
to  direct  the  currents  of  its  rivers  in  the  manner  most  healthy  and 
convenient  for  man.  The  valley  of  the  Rhone  may,  though  it  is  not 
likely,  have  been  in  great  part  excavated  in  early  time  by  torrents 
a  thousand  times  larger  than  the  Rhone;  but  it  could  not  have  been 
excavated  at  all,  unless  the  mountains  had  been  thrown  at  first  into 
two  chains,  between  which  the  torrents  were  set  to  work  in  a  given 
direction.  And  it  is  easy  to  conceive  how,  under  any  less  benefiorat 
dispositions  of  their  masses  of  hill,  the  continents  of  the  earth  might 
either  have  been  covered  with  enormous  lakes,  as  parts  of  North 
America  actually  are  covered;  or  have  become  wildernesses  of  p^if- 
erous  marsh;  or  lifeless  plains,  upon  which  the  water  would  have 
dried  as  it  fell,  leaving  them  for  great  part  of  the  year  dwert.  Such 
districts  do  exist,  and  exist  invastness:  the  whole  earth  is  not  prepaica 
for  the  habitation  of  man;  only  certain  small  portions  are  prepared 
for  him,— the  houses,  as  it  were,  of  the  human  race,  from  whidi  tney 


i3«  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSK  IN 

are  to  look  abroad  upon  the  rest  of  the  world,  not  to  wonder  or  ecmi* 
plain  that  it  is  not  all  house,  but  to  be  grateful  tor  the  kindness  of  th* 
admirable  building,  in  the  house  itadf,  as  compared  with  the  rest. 
It  would  be  as  absurd  to  think  H  an  evil  that  all  the  world  is  not  fit 
for  us  to  inhabit,  as  to  think  it  an  evil  that  the  globe  is  no  larger 
than  it  is.  As  much  as  we  shall  ever  need  is  evidently  assigned  to 
us  for  our  dwelling-place;  the  rest,  covered  with  rolling  v.-ave3  or 
drifting  sands,  fretted  with  ice,  or  crested  with  fire,  is  set  before  us 
for  contemplation  in  an  uninhabitable  magnificence;  and  that  part 
which  we  are  enabled  to  inhabit  owes  its  fitness  for  human  life  chiefly 
to  its  mountain  ranges,  which,  throwing  the  superfluous  rain  off  as 
it  falls  collect  it  in  streams  or  lakes,  and  guide  it  into  given  places, 
and  in  given  directions;  so  that  men  can  build  their  cities  in  the 
midst  of  fields  which  they  know  will  be  always  fertile,  and  establidl 
the  lines  of  their  commerce  upon  streams  which  will  not  faiL 

OTHER  MINISTRIES  OP  MOUNTAINS. 

8.  The  second  great  use  of  mountains  is  to  maintftin  a  constant 
change  in  the  currents  and  nature  of  the  air. 

9.  The  third  great  use  of  mountains  is  to  cause  perpetual  «»lMmgf 
in  the  goiU  of  the  earth.  Without  such  provisions  tne  ground  under 
cultivation  would  in  a  series  of  years  become  exhausted  and  requiro 
to  be  upturned  laboriously  by  the  hand  of  man.  But  the  elevations 
of  the  earth's  surface  provide  for  it  a  perpetual  renovation.  The 
higher  mountains  suflFer  their  summits  to  be  broken  into  fragments 
and  to  be  cast  down  in  sheets  of  massy  rock,  full,  as  we  shall  see 
presently,  of  every  substance  necessary  for  the  nourishment  of  plants: 
these  fallen  fragments  are  again  broken  by  frost,  and  ground  by 
toixenls,  into  various  conditions  of  sand  ana  clay — matenals  which 
•re  distributed  perpetually  by  the  streams  farther  and  farther  from 
toe  mountain's  base. 

.... 

10.  The  three  great  functions — ^those  of  giving  motion  and  change 
to  water,  air,  and  earth, — are  indispensable  to  human  existence;  they 
are  operations  to  be  regarded  with  as  full  a  depth  of  gratitude  as  the 
laws  which  bid  the  tree  bear  fruit,  or  the  seed  multiply  itself  in  the 
earth.  And  thus  those  desolate  and  threatening  ranges  of  dark  moun- 
tain, which,  in  nearly  all  ages  of  the  world,  men  have  looked  upon 
with  aversion  or  with  terror,  and  shrunk  back  from  as  if  they  were 
haunted  by  perpetual  images  of  death,  are,  in  reality,  sources  of  life 
and  happmess  far  fuller  and  more  beneficent  than  all  the  bright 
nuitfulnesB  of  the  plain.  The  valleys  only  feed ;  the  mountains  feed, 
and  guard,  and  strengthen  us.  We  take  our  idea  of  fearfulness  and 
sublimity  alternately  from  the  mountains  ard  the  sea;  but  we  asso- 
ciate them  unjustly.  The  sea  wave,  with  all  its  beneficence,  is  yet 
^vouring  and  terrible;  but  the  silent  wave  of  iho  blue  mountain  i» 


RELIOIOVS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  tST 

lifted  toward  heaven  in  a  stillness  of  perpetual  mercy;  and  the  on« 
surge,  unfathomable  in  its  darkness,  the  other,  unshaken  in  iti  unhp 
fiilna— J  foiever  bear  the  seal  of  their  appointed  symbol : 

"Th7  Tiglit*(m*n«u  U  Uke  the  crMt  moanttiaa: 

— «.  F,  C%.  7. 

WASTE  AND  DECAY  AS  DIVINB  INSTBUMENT8. 

12.  In  the  hand  of  the  great  Architect  of  the  mountains,  time  and 
decay  are  as  much  the  instruments  of  His  purpose  as  the  forcei 
by  which  He  first  led  forth  the  troops  of  hills  in  leaping  flocks: — 
the  lightning  and  the  torrent  and  the  wasting  and  weariness  of  innu- 
merable ages,  all  bear  their  part  in  the  working  out  of  one  consistent 
plan ;  ana  the  Builder  of  the  temple  forever  stands  beside  His  work, 
appointing  the  stone  that  is  to  fall,  and  the  pillar  that  is  to  be 
abased,  and  guiding  all  the  seeming  wildness  of  duuM*  and  oange, 
into  Qxdained  qdoMUm  and  twma  hann<mifla. 

TBI  XOClTTAnr  AIM  AND  THE  CREATOB. 

13.  I  can  hardly  conceive  any  one  standing  face  to  face  with  one 
of  these  towers  of  central  rock,  and  yet  not  also  asking  himmlf,  b 
this  indeed  the  actual  first  work  of  the  Divine  Master  on  which  I 
gaze?  Was  the  great  precipice  shaped  by  His  finger,  as  Adam  was 
shwed  out  of  the  dust?  were  its  clefts  and  ledges  carved  upon  it 
by  its  Creator,  as  the  letters  were  on  the  Tables  of  the  Law,  and  was 
it  thus  left  to  bear  its  eternal  testimony  to  His  beneficence  among 
these  clouds  of  heaven?  Or  is  it  the  descend^  of  lo^lLnce  of 
mountains,  existing  under  appointed  laws  at  mnu  and  endurance, 
death  and  decrepitude?  .  i* 

14.  There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  answer.  The  rock  itself 
answers  audibly  by  the  murmur  of  some  falling  stone  or  rending 
pinnacle.  It  is  not  as  it  was  once.  Those  waste  leagues  around  ita 
feet  are  loaded  with  the  wrecks  of  what  it  was.  On  these,  perhaps,  of 
all  mountains,  the  characters  of  decay  are  written  most  dewW ; 
around  these  are  spread  most  gloomily  the  nmnonais  of  weir  pitda^ 
•nd  the  signs  of  their  humiliation. 

"What  then  were  they  once?"  ,  ,  ,„ 
The  only  answer  is  yet  again, — "Behold  the  cloud. 
Their  form,  as  far  as  human  vision  can  trace  it,  is  one  of  eternal 
decay.  No  retrospection  can  raise  them  out  of  their  ruins,  or  with- 
draw them  beyond  the  law  of  their  perpetual  fate.  Existing  science 
may  be  challenged  to  form,  with  the  faintest  color  of  probability,  any 
conception  of  the  original  aspect  of  a  crystalline  mountain;  i*  c«> 
not  be  followed  in  its  elevation,  or  traced  in  its  connection  with  na 
fellows.  No  eyes  ever  "saw  its  substance,  yet  being  imperfect;  its 
l^story  is  a  monotone  of  endurance  and  destruction ;  all  that  we  can 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


certainly  know  of  it,  ia  that  it  waa  once  greater  than  U  it  mnr,  ttui 
it  only  gtthm  vaaineie,  and  itill  gathen,  aa  it  ludaa  ialB  tiw  ami  «f 
tha  unknown.— «.  V,  Ok.  IS. 

A  cmna  aw  mica  a»  tbb  azb  or  ooo. 

17.  Is  not  this  a  strange  type,  in  the  yery  heart  and  height  of  these 
mj^sterious  Alps — these  wrinlcled  hills  in  their  snowy,  cold,  gray* 
haired  old  age,  at  first  so  silent,  then,  as  we  keep  quiet  at  their  feet, 
muttering  and  whispering  to  us  gatruloual^,  in  broken  and  dream* 
ing  fits,  as  it  were,  about  their  childhood— la  it  not  a  strange  type  of 
the  things  which  "out  of  weakness  are  made  strong?"  If  one  of 
those  little  flakes  of  mica-sand,  hurried  intremulous  spangling^ 
along  the  bottom  of  the  ancient  river,  too  light  to  sink,  too  faint  to 
float,  almost  too  small  for  sight,  could  have  had  a  mind  given  to  it  aa 
it  waa  at  last  borne  down  with  ita  kindred  duat  into  the  abysses  of 
the  stream,  and  laid,  (would  it  not  have  thought?)  for  a  hopeless 
eternity,  in  the  dark  ooze,  the  most  despised,  forgotten,  and  feeble  of 
all  earth's  atoms ;  incapable  of  any  use  or  change;  not  fit,  down  there 
in  the  diluvial  darkness,  ao  much  as  to  help  an  eurth-waq>  to  build 
its  nest,  or  feed  the  first  fibre  of  a  lichen; — what  wonia  it  have 
thought,  had  it  been  told  that  one  day,  knitted  into  a  strength  as 
of  imperishable  iron,  rustless  by  the  air,  infusible  by  the  flame,  out 
of  the  substance  of  it,  with  its  fellows,  the  axe  of  God  should  hew  that 
Alpine  tower;  that  against  i^poor,  helpleaa,  mica  flake  I — the  wild 
nmih  winds  should  rage  in  vain;  beneaui  it — ^low-f':Uen  mica  flake t 
— the  snowy  hills  should  lie  bowed  like  flocks  of  sheep,  and  the  king- 
doms of  the  earth  fade  away  in  unregarded  blue;  and  around  it — 
■weak,  wave-drifted  mica  flake! — the  .great  war  of  the  firmament 
should  burst  in  thunder,  and  yet  atir  it  not;  and  the  fiarr  arrows  and 
angry  meteors  of  the  night  fall  blunted  Imck  frmn  it  into  the  air; 
and  all  the  stars  in  the  clear  heaven  should  light,  one  by  one  as  they 
rose,  new  cressets  upon  the  points  of  snow  that  fringed  its  abiding- 
I^aoe  on  the  impeiiahable  spire?— Pt.  V,  Ch.  16. 

MEN  WILL  SEE  WHAT  THEY  LOOK  FOB. 

4.  In  all  things  throughout  the  world,  the  men  who  look  for  the 
crooked  will  see  the  crooked,  and  the  men  who  look  for  the  straight 
will  see  the  straight.  But  yet  the  saying  was  a  notably  sad  one ;  for 
it  came  of  the  conviction  in  the  speaker's  mind  that  there  was  in 
reality  no  crooked  and  no  straight;  that  all  so-called  diacernment 
was  fancy,  and  that  men  might,  with  eqoal  rectitude  of  judgment, 
and  good-ueserving  of  their  fellow-men,  perceive  and  paint  whatevtt- 
was  convenient  to  them. 


RELIOIOVS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  139 

WE  DO  KOT  BKB  THS  WHOU  OF  ANYTHiyO. 

5.  Whereas  thinm  mav  always  be  mak  truly  by  candid  people, 
though  never  compUtely.  No  human  capacity  ever  yet  saw  the  whole 
of  a  thing;  but  we  may  see  more  and  more  of  it  the  longer  wo 
look.  Every  individual  temper  will  see  something  different  in  it: 
but  supposing  the  tempers  none; ; ,  all  the  differences  are  there. 
Every  aovaace  in  our  acuteness  of  perception  will  show  us  something 
new;  but  the  old  and  fint  diioemed  thing  will  still  be  there,  not 
falsified,  only  modified  and  enriched  by  the  new  perceptions,  b^ 
coming  contmually  more  beautiful  in  its  harmony  with  them  and 
more  approved  as  a  part  of  the  Infinite  truth. 

6.  There  are  no  natural  objects  out  of  which  more  can  be  thus 
learned  than  out  of  stones.  They  seem  to  have  been  created  eepe- 
daUy  to  lewatd  «  patient  observer.  Nearly  all  other  objects  m 
natoie  can  be  eeen,  to  tome  extent,  without  patience,  and  are  pleas- 
ant even  in  being  half  seen.  Trees,  clouds,  and  rivers  are  enioyable 
even  by  the  careless;  but  the  stone  under  his  foot  has  for  carelessness 
nothing  in  it  but  stumbling:  no  pleasure  is  languidly  to  be  had  out 
of  it,  nor  food,  nor  good  of  any  kind;  nothing  but  symbolism  of 
the  hard  heart  and  the  unfatherly  mft.  And  yet,  do  but  give  it 
some  reverence  and  watchfulness,  and  there  is  bread  of  thought  in 
it  more  tW  in  any  other  lowly  feature  of  all  the  laadso^.^ 
Pt.  V,  Ch.  18. 

LKSSONS  OF  THE  BT0NB8. 

26.  There  are  two  lessons  to  be  gathered  from  the  opposite  con- 
ditions of  mountam  decay,  of  perhaps  a  wider  range  of  meaning 
than  any  which  were  somested  even  by  the  states  of  mountam 
strength.  In  the  first,  wefind  the  unyielding  rock,  undergomg  no 
sudden  danger  and  capable  of  no  total  fall,  yet,  m  its  hardness  ot 
heart,  worn  away  by  perpetual  trampling  of  torrent  waves,  and  strew 
of  wandering  storm.  Its  fragments,  fruitless  and  restless  are  tossed 
into  ever^hanging  heapa  :  no  labor  of  man  can  subdue  them  to  his 
service,  nor  can  his  utmost  patience  secure  any  dwelling-place  among 
them.  In  this  the  7  vre  the  type  of  all  that  humanity  which,  suf- 
fering under  no  sudden  punishment  or  sonow,  lemams  stony 
ground,"  afflicted,  indeed,  continually  by  minor  or  T«xmg  hut 
only  broken  by  them  into  fruitless  rum  of  fatigued  life.  Of  ttui 
-^und  not  "corn-giving."-this  "rough  va  ley  neither  eare^^ 
Mwnr  of  the  common  world,  it  u  eaid,  to  those  who  have  set 
up  their  idds  ha      wmk  <d  ii— 

"Among  the  smooth  iMMS  *t  Ik*  StMH  Is  tkr  «W.  tfcW  ai»  liF 

lot"— /fM.  ML  B,  e. 

But,  as  we  pass  beneath  the  hills  whWi  h«fe  been  diaksB  by 

iD«ut»d.  4.   8oAiw*vl.M«  "««B  lews 
ttaagk  btM  with  omr 


>40  THE  ir:LIOION  OF  RUSKIN 

farthqnnkc  and  torn  by     nvulsion,  we  find  nat  periods  of  perfect 
*po^   succeeded  th<     of  deatruction.   The  pools  of  calm  water  lie 
clear  tteneath  their  ^«iUen  rockt,  tbA  watMMiliM  ^/tam,  and  th* 
reeds  whisper  among  tlleir  shadows;  the  Tillage  riam  again  over  tkt 

forgotten  graves,  and  its  church-tower,  white  through  the  itorm- 
twilight.  proclaims  a  renewed  appeal  to  His  nroi.  etion  in  whosi  hand 
"aro  all  the  comers  of  the  earth,  and  thf  ^reneth  of  the  hills  is 
H  -  ai-i»."  Th»»re  is  no  loveliness  of  Alp;  ,  valley  that  does 
tofii  h  tiip  same  lesson.  It  is  just  where  !he  mo  intain  falling  oomeOk 
to  naught,  and  the  recV  is  removed  oat  of  hia  place, '  tlwit,  in  procMi 
of  ye.iM.  the  6dreat  -  •dews  Uoom  brtween  ^  frasments,  the 
c.earest  nvulets  momiv  f rotn  thdr  ercrriees  among  the  flowers,  ai  i 
the  clustered  cottages,  *wh  ribeltered  beneath  some  strt>ncth  of  mossy 
stone,  now  to  be  cmovt'l  no  more,  n-id  with  their  pasturer  locks 
nronnd  them,  safe  from  the  eagle's  stop  and  fhe  wolf's  raviu,  have 
wntt'  n  upon  thdr  fronts,  in  simple  it«rat»  tiH  tnirmitairniir*!  fciUi 
in  the  anoier.'  promise — 

lather  ahalt  thou  be  af nid  of  dMtrnctioa  wh«a  it  eeawth  ■ 

V,  Ch.  IS. 


HATUM^s  wauraMt  AH©  THB  xTBmT  Of  wmmosiT. 

32.  It  has  always  appeare'l  to  me  that  the  was,  even  i:  man 
healthy  mountain  distncts.  u  i-rtain  degree  of  inevitable  ms^ao' 
choly;  nor  could  T  ever  escape  from  the  feeling  that  Imm,  wlwni 
chiefly  the  beauty  of  God's  working  was  manifested  to  men  wmth 
ins  was  also  given,  and  that  to  tiie  foil,  of  the  Mining  W  fSk 
indignatwn  wgaimt  oaa. 

IteewM  one  flf  ^  meat  conning  and  frequent  ot  *lf-dert-ptiona 
to  ntn  the  heart  away  from  this  warning  and  refuse  acknowledge 
anything  in  the  fair  scenes  of  the  natural  -ati  1  t  beneti^«oS 
Men  m  general  .ear  towards  the  light,  so  as  tjjt  in«5>n  >late 
such  things  at  all,  most  of  them  passing  on  tl^  aef  ^ti^J* 
either  in  mere  plodding  pursuit  or  their  ow  vor'  ^  -^spef^ivp  of 
what  good  or  evil  is  around  them,  or  else  in     isb  or  ^ 

OMight,  resulting  fn»n  their  own  eircumstan         h        .ent  ^ 
wwee  who  give  themselves  'o  anv  true  con-      lanon,  nb-ii 
being  htimble,  gentle,  an  '  kindly  hearted,  look  only  iu  r 
what  13  lovely  and  kind   partlv  nh^,  Gar^  Hves  the  dispo=  m 
eveiT  healthy  human  mmd  in  some  de.      to  paii  over  even 
harden  itself  against  evi]  filing?,  else  the  sufferiM  would  be  too 
great  to  be  borne;  and  humble  people,  with  a  <  iel  tmst  that  every, 
thing  IS  for  the  beet,  do  smI  ftMw  reprasent  «h  fa-ts  to  thomselvra 
tanking  them  none  of  thdr  l^eas.    S      hnt  between  "hard- 
■•Mled  people,  thought!,  m  peopk,  busy  people,    umble  people. 


..ELIQIOUS  TIIOUOHT  n'  ART  141 

aiiH  cheerfully  minded  people — ^giddiness  of  youth,  and  preoccu- 
pa  Hons  of  age — philoaophies  of  faith,  and  cruelties  of  folly — priest 
and  L«nle,  maaquer  and  mert  lantman,  all  agreeing  to  keep  their 
owi  mit  of  the  way— the  evil  that  God  sends  to  warn  us  gets  to 
•i  t  -rgDttim,  and  Uie  evil  that  He  sends  to  be  mended  by  us  gets  left 
mmended.  And  then,  because  people  shnt  their  eyes  to  the  daik 
indisi  itablcness  of  the  facts  in  front  of  them,  their  Faith,  such  as 
it  s,  IS  shaken  or  uprooted  hy  every  darkness  in  what  is  revealed 
to  ih(  1.  In  the  present  day  it  is  not  easy  to  find  a  well-meaning 
n>  in  aiiiong  our  more  earnest  thinkers,  who  will  not  take  upon  him- 
mii  to  uiqmt  <t  whole  system  of  redemption,  because  he  cannot 
maurti  the  myMiy  of  the  poniahment  of  ain.  But  can  he  'xnmvd 
tt»  rnmt-  7  of  tiM  punishment  ci  iro  ais  ?—Pt.  V,  Ch.  29. 

BIBLE  BIONIFICANCE  01  OVNTktSB. 

4i      mr     fhaps  ^e  permitted  me  to  mark  the  significance  of 

ti  on  0-  nountains  in  the  Mosaic  books;  at  least,  of 

thost:   a  wii      some     ivine  appointment  or  command  is  stated 

-pecting  them.  The,  are  first  brought  before  us  as  refuges  for 
neople  from  the  two  judgments  of  water  and  fire.  The  ark 

its  ..pon  the  "mountains  of  Arar  t:"  and  man,  having  passed 
tkamif^  that  great  bi^tism  unto  deatn,  kneels  upon  the  earth  first 
^HHce  it  is  nearest  heaven,  and  minxes  with  the  mountain  clouds 
the  amoke  of  his  sacrifice  of  thanksgiviag.  Again:  from  the  midat 
of  Hbm  ftnt  judgment  by  fire,  the  eommmA  of  ue  Dtity  to  Wa  mm- 
ant  is,  "EJscape  to  the  mountain ;"  a  the  morbid  fear  ol  the  hills 
which  fills  any  human  mind  after  ?  stay  in  places  of  luxury 
and  ;'in,  is  strangely  marked  in  Lc        ^plaining  reply:  "I  can- 

H  escape  to  the  mountain,  lest  soi.  take  me."   The  third 

mention,  in  way  of  ordinance,  is  a  fw  c  solemn  one:  "Abraham 
lifted  xxp  his  eyes,  and  saw  the  plaee  a.  uB."  "The  Place,"  the 
Ifoimtam  <rf  Ifynti,  or  of  bitterness,  cboaen  to  fulfil  to  all  the  seed 
of  Abraham,  far  off  and  near,  the  inner  meaning  of  promise  re- 
garded in  that  tow:  "I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from 
whence  cometh  mine  help." 

And  the  fourth  is  the  aelivery  of  the  law  on  SinaL 

TK^  DEATH  OP  AARON  AND  MOSES. 

46.  It  seemed,  then,  to  the  monks,  that  the  mountains  were 
appointed  by  their  Maker  to  be  to  man,  refuges  from  Judgment, 
signs  of  Reilemption,  and  altars  of  Sanctification  and  obedience; 
and  they  saw  them  afterwards  connected,  in  the  manner  the  most 
touohing  and  gracious,  with  the  death,  after  his  task  had  been  accom- 
plished,  of  the  first  anointed  Priest:  the  death,  in  like  manner,  of 
the  first  inspired  Lawfriver;  and,  lastly,  v  ith  the  assunqpti(m  of 
his  oiBce  by  the  Eternal  Priest,  Lawgiver,  and  Saviour. 


14* 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 


Observe  the  connection  of  these  three  events.  Althoudi  the 
ItfiM  of  the  deaths  of  Aaron  and  Moses  was  hastened  by  God's  dia- 
plecunu^  we  lunre  not,  it  seems  to  me,  the  sli^test  warrant  for  cou> 
eluding  that  the  manner  of  their  desUis  was  mtended  to  be  ^evous 
or  dishonorable  to  them.  Far  from  this:  it  cannot,  I  think,  be 
doubted  that  in  the  denial  of  the  permission  to  enter  the  Promised 
Land,  the  whole  punishment  of  tneir  sin  was  included;  and  that 
as  far  as  regarded,  the  manner  of  their  deaths,  it  must  have  been 
appointed  for  them  by  iheir  Master  in  all  tenderness  and  love ;  and 
with  full  purpose  of  ennobling  the  close  of  their  service  upon  the 
earth.  It  might  have  seemed  to  us  more  honorable  that  both  should 
have  been  permitted  to  die  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Tabemi';lff, 
the  congregation  of  Israel  watohing  by  their  side ;  and  all  whom  they 
loved  gathered  together  to  receive  the  last  message  from  the  lips 
of  the  meek  lawgiver,  and  the  last  blessing  from  the  prayer  of  the 
anointed  priest.  But  it  was  not  thus  they  were  permitted  to  die. 
Try  to  realize  thi^  going  forth  of  Aaron  from  the  midst  of  the 
congregation.  He  imo  nad  so  often  done  sacrifice  for  their  sin, 
going  forth  now  to  offer  up  his  own  spirit.  He  who  had  stood, 
among  them,  between  the  dead  and  the  living,  and  had  seen  the 
eyes  of  all  that  great  multitude  turned  to  him,  that  by  his  inter- 
cession  their  breath  might  yet  be  drawn  a  moment  more,  going 
forth  now  to  meet  the  Angel  of  Death  face  to  face,  and  deliver 
himself  into  hia  hand.  Try  if  you  cannot  walk,  in  thought,  with 
those  two  brothers,  and  the  son,  as  they  passed  the  outmost  tents 
of  Israel,  and  turned,  while  yet  the  dew  lay  round  about  the  camp, 
towards  the  slopes  of  Mount  Hor;  talking  together  for  the  last 
time,  as  step  by  step,  they  felt  the  steeper  rising  of  the  rocks,  uul 
hour  after  hour,  beneath  the  ascending  sun,  the  horizon  grew 
broader  as  they  climbed,  and  all  the  folded  hills  of  Idumea,  one 
by  one  subdued,  showed  amidst  their  hollows  in  the  haze  of  noon, 
the  windings  of  that  long  desert  journey,  now  at  last  to  close.  But 
who  shall  enter  into  the  thoughts  of  the  High  Priest,  as  his  eyes 
followed  thoee  paths  of  ancient  pilgrimage;  and,  through  the  silence 
of  the  arid  and  endless  hills,  stretching  even  to  the  dim  peak  of 
Sinai,  the  whole  history  of  those  forty  years  was  unfolded  before 
him,  and  the  myst^  of  his  own  ministries  revealed  to  him;  and 
that  othw  Hdy  of  Holies,  of  which  the  mountain  peaks  were  the 
altars,  and  the  mountain  clouds  the  veil,  the  firmament  of  his  Far 
ther's  dwelling,  opened  to  him  still  more  brighter  and  infinitely  as 
he  drew  nearer  his  death ;  until  at  last,  on  the  shadeless  summit, — 
from  him  on  whom  sin  was  to  be  laid  no  more — from  him  on  whose 
heart  the  names  of  sinful  nations  were  to  press  their  grpvtn  fire  no 
longer,— the  brother  and  tlM  sm  took  bfsss<phto  aiM  s^iod,  and 
left  him  to  his  rest 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  m 

MOSB8  AT  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

47.  There  is  indeed  a  secretness  in  this  calm  faith  and  deep 
restraint  of  sorrow,  into  which  it  is  difficult  for  us  to  enter;  but  tlM 
death  of  Moses  himself  is  more  easily  to  be  concdved;  wad  tad 
in  it  circumstances  still  more  touching,  as  far  as  regards  the  mflu- 
ence  of  the  external  scene.   For  forty  years  Moses  had  not  been 
akme.  The  care  and  burden  of  all  the  people,  the  weight  of  their 
woe,  and  miilt,  and  death,  had  been  upon  him  contmually.  The 
multitude  nad  been  laid  upon  him  as  if  he  had  conceived  them; 
their  tears  had  been  his  meat,  night  and  day,  un^  he  had  felt 
as  if  God  had  withdrawn  His  favor  from  him,  and  he  tuA  prayed 
that  he  might  be  slain,  and  not  see  his  wretchedness.'  And  now, 
at  last,  the  command  came,  "Get  thee  up  into  this  mountain. 
The  weary  hands  that  had  been  so  long  stayed  up  agamst  the 
enemies  of  Israel,  might  lean  again  upon  the  diepherd's  staflf,  and 
fold  themsdvee  for  the  shepherd's  prayer— for  the  shepherd  s  slum- 
ber.  Not  strange  to  his  feet,  though  forty  yews  imknown,  the 
roughness  of  the  bare  mountain-path,  as  he  climbed  from  ledge  to 
led^  of  Abarim;  not  strange  to  his  aged  eyes  tlM  scattned  do^n 
of  the  mountain  herbage,  and  the  broken  shadows  of  the  difh, 
indented  far  across  the  silence  of  uninhabited  ravines;  scenes  such 
as  those,  among  which,  with  none,  as  now,  beside  him  but  God,  he 
had  led  his  flocks  so  often;  and  which  he  had  left,  how  pamfully! 
taking  vmm  Mm  the  wpointed  power,  to  make  of  the  fenced  city 
awildemM,  and  to  fiU  the  desert  with  songs  of  deUverance.  It 
was  not  to  embitter  the  last  houn  of  his  life  that  Ctad  restored  to 
him,  for  a  day,  the  beloved  sditudes  he  had  lost;  and  breatiied 
the  peace  of  the  perpetual  hills  around  him,  and  cast  ttie  world  in 
which  he  had  labored  and  sinned  far  beneath  his  feet,  m  that  mist 
of  dying  blue;— all  sin,  all  wandering,  soon  to  be  forgotten  for^ 
ever;  the  Dead  Sea— a  type  of  God's  anyj  understood  by  him, 
of  all  men,  most  dearly,  who  had  seen  the  earth  open  her  moutii, 
and  the  sea  his  dqpUi,  to  overwhelm  the  companies  of  those  who 
contended  with  his  Master— lay  waveless  beneath  him ;  and  beyond 
it,  the  fair  hills  of  Judah,  and  ihe  soft  plains  and  banks  of  Jor- 
dan,  purple  in  the  evening  light  as  with  the  blood  of  redemption, 
and  fading  in  their  distant  fulness  into  mysteries  of  promise  and  of 
love.   There,  with  his  unabated  strength,  his  undimmed  glance, 
lying  down  upon  the  utmost  rocks,  with  angels  waiting  near  to 
contend  for  the  spoils  of  his  spirit,  he  put  oflf  his  earthlv  armor. 
We  do  deep  reverence  to  his  companion  prophet,  for  whom  the 
chariot  of  fire  came  down  from  heavan;  hat  WM  his  death  less  noU% 
whom  his  Lord  Himself  buried  in  the  viles  of  Moab,  keeping,  in  tht 
secrets  of  the  eternal  counsels,  the  knowledge  of  a  sepulchre,  from 
which  he  was  to  be  called,  in  the  fuhiess  of  time  to  talk  with  that 


'  Number  il.  12,  IS. 


144  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

Lotd,  upon  Hermon,  of  the  death  that  He  should  aooomplish  at 
Jflnualem? 

TBI  TBiLNSFIOmUTIOH. 

47.  And  lastly,  let  us  turn  our  thoughts  for  a  few  moments  to  the 
cause  of  the  resurrection  of  these  two  prophets.  We  are  all  of  us 
too  much  in  the  habit  of  passing  it  by,  as  a  thing  mystical  and  in- 
conceivable, taking  place  m  the  life  of  Christ  for  some  purpose  not 
bv  us  to  be  understood,  or,  at  the  best,  merely  as  a  manifestation 
of  His  divinity  of  brishtness  of  heavenly  light,  and  the  ministering 
of  the  spirits  of  the  dead,  intended  to  strengthen  the  faith  of  His 
three  chosen  apostles.  And  in  this  as  in  many  other  events  recorded 
by  the  Evangeiists,  we  lose  half  the  meaning  and  evade  the  practi- 
cal power  upjn  ourselves,  by  never  acceptmg  in  its  fulness  the 
idea  that  our  Lord  was  "perfect  man"  "tempted  in  all  things  like 
as  we  an."  Our  preachers  are  continually  tmng,  in  all  manner  of 
lobde  ways,  to  o^lain  the  union  of  the  Divinity  wiUi  the  Blan* 
hood,  an  explanation  which  certainly  involvw  first  their  being  able 
to  describe  the  nature  of  Deity  itself  or,  in  plain  words,  to  compre- 
hend God.  They  never  can  explain,  in  any  one  particular,  the 
union  of  the  natures;  they  only  succeed  in  weakening  the  faith  of 
their  hearers  as  to  the  entireness  of  either.  The  thing  they  have 
to  do  is  precisely  the  contrary  of  this — ^to  insist  upon  the  entirenem 
of  both.  We  never  think  of  Christ  enough  as  God,  never  enoudi  ai 
Man;  the  instinctive  habit  of  our  minSa  being  always  to  miss  of 
the  Divinity,  and  the  reiscming  and  enforced  habit  to  miss  of  the 
Humanity.  We  are  afraid  to  bubor  in  our  own  hearts,  or  to  utter 
in  the  hearing  of  others,  any  thought  of  our  Lord,  as  hungering, 
tired,  sorrowful,  having  a  human  soul,  a  human  will,  and  iSpected 
by  events  of  human  life  as  a  finite  creature  is;  and  yet  one  half  of 
the  efficiency  of  His  atonement,  and  the  whole  of  the  efficiency  of 
His  example,  depend  on  His  having  been  this  to  the  full. 

48.  Consider,  therefore,  the  Transficraiation  as  it  relates  to  the 
human  feelings  of  oar  Lord.  It  was  we  first  definite  preparation 
for  His  death.  He  had  foretold  it  to  His  disciples  six  ^ys  before; 
then  takes  with  Him  the  three  chosen  ones  into  "an  high  moun- 
tain apart."  From  an  exceeding  high  mountain,  at  the  Irst  taking 
on  Him  the  ministry  of  life,  He  had  beheld,  and  rejecied  the  king- 
doms of  the  earth,  and  their  glory:  now,  on  a  high  mountain, 
He  takes  u^n  Him  the  miniatoy  of  death.  Peter  and  they  that 
were  with  him,  as  in  GethanoHUM,  were  Imkvj  uMi  deep,  tihritt's 
work  had  to  be  done  al<me. 

The  tradition  is,  that  the  Moant  of  Transfiguration  was  the  s  i '  > 
mit  of  Tabor;  but  Tabor  is  neither  u  high  mountain,  nor  was  it 
any  sense  a  mountain  "apart,'"  being  in  those  years  both  inhabiteu 
and  fortified.   All  the  immediately  preceding  ministries  of  Christ 
had  been  at  Cesarea  Philippi.  There  is  no  mention  of  travel  south- 


RELiaiOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  145 

ward  in  the  six  days  that  intervened  between  the  warning  given  to 
His  disciples,  and  the  going  up  into  the  hill.  What  other  hul  could 
it  be  than  the  southward  uope  of  that  goodly  mountain,  Hennon, 
which  18  indeed  the  centre  of  all  the  Promised  Land,  from  the  enter- 
ing in  of  Hamath  unto  the  river  of  Egypt;  the  mount  of  fruit- 
ful iness,  from  which  the  springs  of  Jordan  descended  to  the  valleys 
of  Israel.  Along  its  mighty  forest  avenues,  until  the  grass  grew 
fair  with  the  mountain  lilies.  His  feet  dashed  in  the  dew  of  Hermon, 
He  must  have  gone  to  pray  his  Rrst  recorded  prayer  about  death ; 
and  from  the  steep  of  it,  before  He  knelt,  could  see  to  the  south  aU. 
ihe  dwelling-place  of  the  people  that  had  sat  in  darkness,  and  seen 
the  great  light,  the  land  of  Zabulon  and  of  Naphtali,  Galilee  of  the 
nations; — could  see,  even  with  His  human  sight,  the  gleam  of  that 
lake  hy  Capernaum  and  Chorazin,  and  many  a  place  loved  by  Him, 
and  vainly  ministered  to,  whose  house  was  now  left  unto  them  deso- 
late; and,  chief  of  all,  far  in  the  utmost  blue,  the  hills  above  Nazar- 
eth, alwing  down  to  His  old  home :  hills  on  which  yet  the  stones  lay 
looae,  that  had  been  taken  vp  to  cart  at  Him,  wnm  He  Uit  tlMm 
foravef. 

THK  MOUNTAIN  GLORY. 

49.  "And  as  he  prayed,  two  m^n  stood  by  Lim."  Among  the 
many  ways  in  which  we  miss  the  Uelp  and  hold  of  Scripture,  none 
is  more  subtle  than  our  habit  of  supposing  that,  even  as  man,  Christ 
was  free  from  the  Fear  of  Death.  How  could  He  then  have  beni 
tempted  as  we  are?  since  amonff  all  the  trials  of  tbe  earth,  none 
spring  from  the  dust  more  temole  than  that  Fear.  It  bad  to  be 
borne  by  Him,  indeed,  in  a  unity,  which  we  can  never  comprehend, 
with  the  foreknowledge  of  victory, — as  His  sorrow  for  Lazarus,  with 
the  consciousness  of  the  power  to  restore  him ;  but  it  had  to  be  borne, 
and  that  in  its  full  eartnly  terror;  and  the  presence  of  it  is  surely 
marked  for  us  enough  by  the  rising  of  those  two  at  His  side.  When, 
in  the  desert.  He  was  girding  Himself  for  the  work  of  life,  angels 
of  life  came  and  ministered  unto  Him;  now,  in  the  fair  world, 
>when  He  is  girding  Himself  for  tha  wodc  of  death,  the  miniiiiaLtB 
come  to  Him  from  the  grave. 

But  from  the  grave  conquered.  One,  from  that  tomb  under 
Abarim,  which  His  own  hand  had  sealed  so  long  ago;  the  other 
from  the  rest  in  to  which  he  had  entered,  without  seeing  corruption. 
There  stood  by  Him  Moses  and  Elias,  and  spake  of  His  decease. 

Then,  wh«a  tlMjprayer  is  ended,  the  task  accepted,  first,  since  the 
star  pained  over  Him  at  Bethl^m,  tiie  full  glory  falls  upon  Him 
from  heaven,  and  the  testimony  is  borne  to  hu  everlasting  Sonship 
and  power.   "Hear  ye  him." 

If,  in  their  remembrance  of  these  things,  and  in  their  endeavor 
to  follow  in  thp  footsteps  of  their  Master,  religious  men  of  by-j?one 
days,  closing  themselves  in  the  hill  solitudes,  forgot  sometimes. 


146  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

and  sometimee  feared,  the  duties  they  owed  to  the  active  world,  wa 
may  perhaps  pardon  ibem  more  easily  than  we  ought  to  pardon  ooi^ 
■elves,  if  we  neither  fieek  any  influence  for  gooa  nor  Submit  to  it 
unsought,  in  scenes  to  which  thus  all  the  men  whose  writings  we 
receive  as  inspired,  together  with  their  Lord,  retired  whenever  they 
had  any  task  or  trial  laid  upon  them  needing  teore  than  their  usual 
strength  of  spirit.  l>ior,  perhaps,  should  we  have  unprofitably  entered 
into  the  mind  of  the  earlier  ages,  if  amon^  our  other  thoughts,  as 
we  watch  the  chains  of  the  sno^  moantams  rise  on  the  horizon, 
we  should  sometimes  admit  the  mnaMvy  of  the  hour  in  which 
their  Creator,  among  their  solitudes,  entered  on  His  travail  for  the 
salvation  of  our  race;  and  indulge  the  dream,  that  as  the  flaming 
and  trembling  mountains  of  the  earth  seem  to  be  the  monuments 
of  the  manifesting  of  his  terror  on  Sinai, — these  pure  and  white 
hills,  near  to  the  heaven,  and  sources  of  all  good  to  the  earth,  are 
the  ^>pointed  memorials  of  that  light  of  His  Mercy,  that  fell,  moW' 
like,  on  the  Mount  of  Tianifigazation.— Pt.  V,  Ck  SO. 


V 


MODEBN  PADlTEBa 
Vol.  V.  (1860.) 

Fart  VI.  Ov  Lkat  Bxautt— 10  Chaps. 
Part  Vn.  Of  Cloud  Bbautt — 4  Chapa. 

Part  VIII.  Of  Ideas  of  Relation: — Invention  Formal — 4  Chaps. 
Part  IX.  Or  Ideas  ov  Relation: — ^Invention  ^iritual — 12  Chaps. 

With  this  volume  Mr.  Ruskin  brought  his  "Modem  Painter^ 
to  a  dose,  although  he  intended  to  have  written  at  least  one  more 
en"W«t«r»  Lik»  VoL  IV  this  is  pzofnsdy  ilhistMled,  having  8S 
page  plates  and  101  figure  drawings. 

The  subjects  of  the  four  sections,  respectively,  and  the  fact  that 
Ihe  vdmne  k  the  outemne  of  Hba  an^ior'li  riper  yean  of  rtndy, 
should  prepare  the  reader  for  many  of  his  nobler  passages  of  in* 
q>ized  poetry.  And  truly  we  will  not  be  dis^>pointed.  It  brings  us^ 
over  and  over  again,  into  dose  vww  of  the  saUiLMstthingiliinataxo^ 
and  notwithstanding  the  change  of  mind  through  which  Ruskin 
had  passed,  it  never  fails  to  turn  the  mind  upward,  to  natoie'a 
<3od. 

Part  Vm  and  IX  are  of  inestimable  value  to  all  who  havo 
a  mind  for  the  greater  works  of  the  great  masters  of  art,  espemally 
ttw  revieir  of  niigious  paintings. 

It  is  here  that  the  critical  mind  of  Ruskin  is  seen  at  the  hi^ 
est.  No  <me  should  think  of  visiting  the  great  Venetian  Art  Gbl* 
krisi  wiUMNrt  first  rea^g  fhk  volame;  and  it  may  ho  said  tbaft 
no  art  teacher  is  fully  equipped  who  has  not  made  this  book  his 
friend,  and  of  Modem  Painters  as  a  whole,  it  may  be  said  thai 
no  preadier,  without  it,  has  reosived  the  best  aid  to  knowledgi 
and  faith  whidi  literature  affords. 

Wa  learn  from  a  letter  of  Raskin's  published  in  "The  Life  and 
Tfaaea  of  Qydn^  SmtO."  tba*  he  (Sydney  Smith)  wm  'Ua  tm 

149 


S4S  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

TBACH  OUR  YOUTH  TO  8EB  BATHSB  THAN  TO  BAY. 

The  main  thing  which  we  ought  to  teach  our  youth  ii  to  M« 
Bomething,— all  that  the  eyes  which  God  has  given  them  are  cap- 
able of  seeing.  The  sum  of  what  we  do  teach  them  is  to  «aj/  some- 
thing. As  uir  as  I  have  experience  of  instruction,  no  man  ever 
dreams  of  teaching  a  boy  to  get  to  the  root  of  a  matter;  to  thmk 
it  out;  to  get  quit  of  passion  and  desire  in  the  process  of  thmkmg; 
or  to  fear  no  face  of  man  in  plainly  asserting  the  ascertained  result. 
But  to  say  anything  in  a  glib  and  graceful  manner,— to  ^ve  an 
epigrammatic  turn  to  nothing,— to  quench  the  dim  perceptions  of 
a  feeble  adversary,  and  parry  cunningly  the  home  thrusts  of  a 
strong  one,— to  invent  blanknesses  in  speech  for  breathing  time, 
and  dipperinesMS  in  speech  for  hiding  time, — ^to  polish  malice  to 
the  deaXiest  edge,  shape  profession  to  the  seemliest  shadow,  and 
mask  self-interest  under  the  fairest  pretext,--all  these  skills  we  teach 
definitely,  as  the  main  arts  of  business  and  hfe,    •    •.  •  ,       .  , 

The  common  plea  that  anything  does  to  "exercise  the  nund 
upon"  is  an  utterly  false  one.   The_  human  soul,^  in  youth,  » 


upon     13    all    uiieiiv    jaiao  —       i  T 

not  a  machine  of  which  you  can  polish  the  cogs  with  any  kelp  or 
brickdust  near  at  hand;  and,  having  got  it  into  working  order,  and 


essentially  of  formation,  edification^  insteucUon,  I  use  the  words 
with  their  weight  in  them;  in  taking  of  stores,  eBtablishment  m 
vital  habits,  hopes,  and  faiths.  There  is  not  wi  hour  of  it  but  » 
trembling  with  destinies,— not  a  moment  of  which,  once  past,  the 
appointed  work  can  ever  be  done  again,  or  the  neglected  blow  struck 
on  the  cold  iron.  Take  your  vase  of  Venice  glass  out  of  the  furnace, 
and  strew  Aaff  over  it  in  its  transparent  heat,  and  recover  <ftae 
to  its  clearness  and  rubied  glory  when  the  north  wind  has  blown 
upon  it;  but  do  not  think  to  strew  chafif  over  the  child  fr«h  from 
God's  presence,  and  to  bring  the  heavenly  colon  back  to  him— at 
least  in  this  world.— Appendix  to  Vol  V. 

THB  LAW  OP  HBLP  AND  HtJKT. 

4  In  substance  which  we  call  "inanimate,"  as  of  clouds,  or 
stones,  their  atoms  may  cohere  to  each  other,  or  consist  with  each 
other,  but  they,  do  not  help  each  other.  The  removal  of  one 
Dart  does  not  injure  the  reat.  _x  j     •  • 

^  But  in  a  plant,  the  taking  away  of  w  one  part  does  mjture  Jo 
rest.   Hurt  or  remove  any  portion  H^'/'LPi?' S? 

rest  is  injured.  If  any  part  enters  into  a  state  m  »*  »«• 
assists  the  rest,  and  has  thus  become  "helpless, '  we  call  it  •!» 

poww  77hich  cauaei  the  aevexal  portions  of  the  plant  to  help 


RSUOIOVS  TBOVOHT  IN  ART  149 

«ach  other,  we  call  lifie.  Much  mote  is  this  m  in  an  animal.  Wo 

may  take  away  the  branch  of  a  tree  without  much  harm  to  it;  Iwi 
not  the  animal's  limb.  Thus,  intensity  of  life  is  also  intensity  of 
helpfulness — completeness  of  depending  of  each  part  on  all  the 
rest.   The  ceasing  of  this  help  is  what  we  call  corruption ;  and  in 

Eroportion  to  the  perfectness  of  the  help,  is  the  dreadfulness  of  the 
m.  The  more  intense  the  life  has  be^i    i.)  more  terrible  is  ita 
caMqytion. 

The  decomposition  of  a  crystal  is  no  ..  'sarily  impure  at  all. 
The  fermentation  of  a  wholesome  liqnia  b'  ^^ms  to  admit  the  idea 
slightly;  the  decay  of  leaves  yet  more;  of  flowers,  more;  of  ani- 
mus, with  greater  painfulness  and  terribleness  in  exact  proi>ortion 
to  their  original  vitality;  and  the  foulest  of  all  corruption  is  that 
of  the  body  man ;  and,  in  his  body,  that  which  is  occasioned  by 
disease,  more  than  that  of  natural  death. 

6.  A  pure  or  holy  state  of  an3rthing  is  that  in  which  all  ita 
parts  are  helpful  or  consistent.  They  may  or  may  not  be  homo- 
geneous. The  highest  or  organic  purities  are  composed  of  many 
elements  in  an  entirely  helpful  state.  The  highest  and  first  law  of 
the  universe — and  the  other  name  of  life,  is,  therefore,  '  help."  The 
oUier  name  of  death  is  "separation."  Government  and  co-opera- 
tion are  in  all  things  and  eternally  the  laws  of  life.  Anarchy  and 
wmpt^iaim,  etemaUy,  and  in  all  thing*,  the  laws  of  death. — PU 
VUlCk.1. 

"coATiov"  AVD  "icAxnra^— ▲  DOTBaDrCI. 

19.  What  is  a  "creation?"  Nay,  it  may  be  replied,  to  "create" 
cannot  be  said  of  man's  labor.  On  the  contrary,  it  not  only  can 
be  said,  but  is  and  must  be  said  continaally.  You  certainly  ao  not 
talk  of  creating  a  watch,  <a  creatins  a  luoe;  nevartheleas  yoo  do 
talk  of  ereatini^  a  feeling.  Why  is  Ink?  Look  baek  to  the  great* 
est  of  all  creation,  that  of  the  world.  Supp<»e  the  trees  had  been 
ever  so  well  or  so  ingeniously  put  together,  stem  and  leaf,  yet  if 
they  had  not  been  able  to  grow,  would  they  have  been  well  created? 
Or  suppose  the  fish  had  been  cut  and  stitched  finely  out  of  skin 
and  whalebone;  yet,  cast  upon  the  waters,  had  not  been  able  to 
swim?  Or  suppose  Adam  and  Ehre  had  been  made  in  the  softest 
clay,  ever  so  neatly,  and  set  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
fadieiMd  UD  to  it,  auite  unable  to  fall,  or  do  an3rthing  else,  would 
they  have  been  well  created,  or  in  any  true  sense  created  at  all? 

20.  It  will,  perhaps,  appear  to  yvn,  after  a  little  farther  thoQi^t, 
that  to  create  anything  in  reality  is  to  put  life  into  it. 

A  poet,  or  crMtor,  is  therefore  a  person  who  puts  things  to- 
gether, not  as  a  watchmaker  steel,  or  a  shoemaker  leather,  but 
who  puts  life  into  them. 

H»  work  is  es^ntially  t^;  it  is  the  ntUiering  and  arranging 
«f  malBiial  by  imagination,  so  at  «e  hmt  m  ft  at  bil  the  hmamj 


,,,  TBt  KEUOIOS  OF  BVSKIS 

bdpfuln-.rf  life,  *3t"nS^gf&^^  ^^^^ 
fitting  Md  adjustment  of  choral  bar- 

mony.fo  otU^  /^TMrnLi^ X  lord  Muse  and  Mother  being  de- 
of  ApoUo  -f^^^  Mmm,  ionate  seeking,"  or  l^e, 

rived  from  the  same  root,  *^  invbntion.  For 

of  which  the  issue  «  P«S*W  to  ^  »y         wor?than  this  of 

d1m0  mvention  so  high  anumg  tw  fomm  w 
^Tl.  Th0  L«m>  of  Help. 

OBCATNSSS  AND  LITTLBNfflB. 

pression  so  cautious,  and  yet  so  steong,  as  those  wmcn  «i 

there  are  yet  creatures  S»Mrth  in  » liUee, 

the  same  Spirit  which  weighs  the  doit  or  we  mna  m 

counts  the  isles  as  a  little  thing.  ,•.  ^.  „.*ter  may,  never- 
than  dkBBct  the  ^wn  of  tlM  minwm.— ri.  ri«,  v«. 

HAH  IN  THI IMAOT  0»  OOO. 

10  T1ieairecle.tiiittifert.tion  of  Deity  to  nitti.  in 
•««'l?hi.^'oj^TSse.  After  W«  lik*--."  The  tnrth  of  the- 

>TU.  Mix.  indeed.  .«o..  th^-'W«t  fA^  «i,Sr^X*^«T?SJ' to 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART 


irofds  Menu  to  lie  at  the  foundation  of  our  knowledn  both  of 
God  and  man ;  yet  do  w»  not  nnially  paai  the  nntanoe  by,  in  doll 

reverence,  attaching  no  definite  sense  to  it  at  all?   .   .  . 

11.  It  cannot  <be  supposed  that  the  bodily  shape  of  man  resembles, 
or  resembled,  any  bodily  shi^M  in  Deity.  The  likeness  must  there- 
fore be,  or  have  oeen,  in  the  soul.  Had  it  wholly  passed  away,  and 
Ihe  Divine  soul  been  altered  into  a  soul  brutal  or  diabolic,  I  sup* 
pose  we  should  have  htma  told  of  the  change.  But  we  are  told 
nothing  of  the  kind.  TIm  Tene  itill  itenib  as  if  for  oar  on  and 
trust.  It  was  only  death  which  was  to  be  our  punishment.  Not 
eJumge.  So  far  as  we  live,  the  image  is  still  there;  defiled,  if  you 
will;  broken,  if  you  will;  all  but  effaced,  if  you  will,  by  death  and 
the  shadow  of  it.  But  not  changed.  We  are  not  made  now  in 
anj  other  image  than  Grod's.  There  are,  indeed,  the  two  states  ot 
this  image— the  earthly  and  heavenly,  but  both  Adamite,  both  hu- 
man, both  the  same  likeness;  only  one  defiled,  and  one  pure.  So 
that  the  soul  of  man  is  still  a  mirror,  whetdm  nwy  be  mmi,  daddy, 
the  image  of  the  mind  of  God. 


BSVILATION  nCPOOnBUE  TO  THI  OOUtVPT  MIND. 

11.  These  may  eeem  daring  words.  I  am  lornr  that  they  do:  but 
I  am  helplns  to  soften  them.  Discover  any  ower  meaning  of  the 
text  if  you  are  able; — ^but  be  sure  that  it  i»  a  meaning — a  meaning 
in  your  head  and  heart — not  a  subtle  gloss,  nor  a  shifting  of  one 
verbal  expre^ion  into  another,  both  idealess.  I  repeat,  thatj  to 
me,  the  verse  has,  and  can  have,  no  other  signification  thAn  this — 
that  the  soul  of  man  is  a  mirror  of  the  mind  of  Qod.  A  mirror 
dark,  distorted  broken,  nae  what  blameful  words  yon  plene  of  iti 
state;  yet  in  the  main,  a  true  mirror,  out  of  which  alone^  «ad  bj 
which  aloney  we  can  know  anything  of  Ood  at  all. 

"How?"  the  reader,  perhaps,  answers  indignantly.  "I  know  the 
nature  of  God  by  revelation,  not  by  looking  into  myself." 
*  Revelation  to  what?  To  a  nature  inci^able  of  receiving  truth? 
That  cannot  be;  for  only  to  a  nature  capable  of  truth,  desirous  of 
it,  distinguishing  it,  feeding  upon  it,  revelation  is  possible.  To  a 
beins  undeBirous  of  it,  and  hating  it,  revelation  is  impoaible.  There 
em  be  ntme  to  a  brute,  or  fiend.  In  so  tn,  therefore,  as  yon  love 
troth,  and  Ihe  tfanrin,  in  ao  far  revdatkm  eaa  taM  for  you;- 
in  io  for,  your  mind  h  tiie  image  of  Go^e. 


ood'b  bivslation — Lovn. 

12.  But  consider  farther,  not  only  to  what,  but  by  what,  is  the 
revelation.  By  si^t?  or  word?  If  1^  nght.  then  to  eyes  wludi  see 
Jnstly.  Otherwise,  no  aidit  woidd  be  revelation.  So  Iv,  tfMO,  « 
7om       it  jm^  il  h^  baagt  of  Ood'arii^ 


«|t  THE  BELIQION  OF  RVSKIN 

If  by  words,— how  do  you  know  their  meaningiTHei*  k  ft 

ehort  piece  of  precious  woid  revelation,  for  instance.  God  is  tO"*- 

Level  yes.  But  what  is  thatf  The  revelation  does  not  tell 
you  that  I  think.  Look  into  the  mirror,  and  you  will  see.  Out 
of  your  own  heart  you  may  know  what  love  is.  In  no  other  p<M- 
uble  way,— by  no  other  help  or  sign.  All  the  words  and  sounds 
ever  vttend,  all  the  revdations  of  cloud,  or  flame,  or  crystal,  are 
utterly  powerless.  They  cannot  tell  y<m,  in  the  uDaUeit  punt,  what 
love  means.   Only  the  broken  mirror 


ODD  IS  JUBTICB. 

13.  Here  is  more  revelation.  •'God  fa  jtntP*  jj 
that?  The  revelation  cannot  help  you  to  discover.  You  say  n 
ia  dealing  equitably  or  equally.  But  how  do  you  discern  the  equal' 
ity?  Not  by  inequality  of  mind;  not  by  a  mmd  mcapable  of 
weighing,  judging,  or  distributing.  If  the  lengths  seem  unequal 
in  the  broken  mirror,  for  you  they  are  unequal ;  but  u  they  seem 
equal,  then  the  mirror  is  true.  So  far  as  you  reoognwe  equahty, 
and  your  conscience  tells  yon  what  it  jwt,  ao  f ar  yo«»  mmd  is 
the  image  of  God's:  and  30  far  as  you  do  not  diaoem  this  n^uto 
of  justice  or  equality,  the  words  "Gfod  is  just"  brmg  no  revrtatkm 

*°f4!"  "But  His  thoughts  are  not  as  our  thoughts."  No:  the  sea 
is  not  as  the  standing  pool  by  the  wayside.  Yet  when  the  brewe 
crisps  the  pool,  you  may  see  the  image  of  the  breakers,  and  a  like- 
ness)f  the  foam.  Nay,  in  some  sort,  the  same  foam.  If  the  sea 
is  forever  invisible  to  you,  something  yon  may  learn  of  it  from  tne 
pool.  Nothing,  assuredly,  any  otherwne.  «  u  i.  t  u 
"But  this  poor  miserable  Mel  Is  this,  then,  all  the  book  I  have 

St  to  read  about  God  in?"  Yes,  truly  so.  No  ottwr  book,  no 
igment  of  book  than  that  will  you  ever  find  ;— no  vdveWwund 
missal,  nor  frankincensed  manuscript;— nothing  hieroglyphic  nor 
cuneiform;  papyrus  and  pyramid  are  alike  silent  on  thw  matter; 
nothing  in  the  doods  above,  nor  in  the  earth  beneath.  Thrt  flesh- 
bound  vohime  is  tiie  only  revelation  tlwt  is,  tf»at  wm,  or  that  «in 
be.  In  that  is  the  image  of  God  ndnted;  in  »  l*w  «rf  God 
written ;  in  that  is  the  promise  of  God  wweatod.  Kbov  tlqfsalf ;  for 
titraogh  thyself  onty  tboa  eanst  knov  God. 

nn  Buiuir  aoob  as  a  BBsaonmr  w  ct  Kvnn. 
16.  nnoa^  the        dnUy.  Bat,  mspt  tiaom^  Um  ifim 

A  tremulous  crystal,  waved  as  water,  poured  out  upon  the  groraid; 
^you  may  defile  it,  despise  it,  pdlute  it  at  your  pleasure,  and  at 
your  peril ;  for  on  the  peace  of  tlMse  weak  waves  must  all  Ae  heaven 
ym  shidl  em  gdn  be  fiist  seen;  and  threoi^  such  parity  as  yoa. 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  i$3 


oan  win  for  those  dark  waves,  must  all  the  ligb^  of  the  riaen  Son  of 
li^teousness  be  bent  down,  by  faint  liteeHui.  dwaw  Ihm, 
and  calm  them,  as  you  lore  your  life. 

Therefore  it  is  that  all  the  power  of  nature  depends  on  subjection 
to  the  human  soul.  Man  is  the  sun  of  the  world;  more  than  tlM 
real  sun.  The  fire  of  his  wonderful  heart  is  the  only  light  and 
heat  worth  gau^  or  measure.  Where  ha  ii,  «•  tht  teq^;  wbtn 
h»  is  not,  the  loe-world. — Pt  IX,  Ch,  1. 

tnmVAL  NATURE  OF  MAN. 

8.  Man  being  the  crowning  and  ruling  woric  of  Gk)d,  it  wiU 
follow  that  all  his  best  art  mart  hare  something  to  tdl  about  him- 
self, as  the  soul  of  things,  and  ruler  of  creatures.  It  must  also 
make  this  reference  to  himself  under  a  true  conception  of  his  own 
nature.  TlMnftm  *Q  art  which  involves  no  reference  to  man  is 
inferior  or  nugatorj.  And  all  art  which  invdves  misconoeptiim 
of  man,  or  base  thoa^t  of  him,  is  in  that  d^prae  false,  and  base. 

Now  the  basest  thought  possible  concerning  him  is,  that  he  has 
no  spiritual  nature;  and  the  foolishest  misunderstanding  of  him 
IMSsihle  is,  that  he  has  or  should  have,  no  animal  nature.  For  his 
nature  is  nobly  animal,  noUy  spiritual — coherently  and  irrevocably 
so;  neither  part  <tf  it  may,  rat  at  its  peril,  expel,  despise,  or  defr 
the  other.  AD  fMtl  Mi  eonfi—  and  waubif  bothw— J%  IX, 
€h.  S. 

VARH  XXIPIBM  VOS  WOKK. 

10.  The  ri|^t  faith  of  man  is  not  intended  to  him  repoM, 
hut  to  enable  him  to  ^  Ui  watk.  It  is  nd  intwded  that  ha 
should  look  away  from  tlM  plMO  ba  lives  in  now,  and  dieer  him* 

self  with  thoughts  of  the  place  he  is  to  live  in  next,  but  that  he 
should  look  stoutly  into  this  world,  in  faith  that  if  he  does  his 
woric  ^banoAlj  here,  some  good  to  others  or  himself,  with  which, 
lioweivMr,  Imm  not  at  premt  owoamed,  will  eome  of  it  hereafter. 
And  thii  Und  of  hrava,  but  not  very  hopeful  or  AmML  ftdth,  I 
perceive  to  be  always  rewarded  by  clear  practical  success  and  splen- 
did intellectual  power;  while  the  faith  which  dwells  on  tiie  future 
fades  away  into  rosy  mist,  and  emptiness  of  musical  air.  That 
result  indeed  follows  naturally  emm^  on  its  habit  of  assuming 
that  things  must  be  rij^t,  or  must  eome  right,  when,  probably, 
the  fact  is,  that  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  they  are  entirely  wrong; 
and  going  wrong:  and  also  on  its  weak  and  false  way  of  looking  on 
■what  Hbam  rdigious  persons  call  "the  bright  side  of  things,"  that 
is  to  say,  on  one  aide  of  them  only,  when  Qod  has  gtvan  than  two 
aid«s,  and  intended  as  to  see  boOb— Pt.  JX,Oh.§,  ^ 


s|«  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

COVnXTlIBVT  OKLY  CAN  POflmi. 

19.  There  are,  indeed,  two  fonns  of  discontent:  one  laborimu, 
the  other  indolent  and  complaining.  We  raq>ect  the  man  of  labori< 
em  denn.  but  l«t  us  not  suppose  that  his  restlessness  is  peace,  or 
Us  awMw^  nmtunss  It  is  because  of  the  special  connection  of 
wtth  aeBttntoMnt  that  it  it  prouuMd  that  tha  meek  shall 


••Inherit  tha  •Mth.'!  IkUfaar  wntouijaw^y  tha  Qra;re, 


inhent  anTthingj^  thqr  Hn  hot 
possess. 

BOW  TO  B 

20.  The  most  helpful  and  sacred  work,  therefore,  which  can  at 
present  be  done  for  humanity,  is  to  teach  people  (chiefly  by  example, 
as  all  best  teaching  must  be  done)  not  how  "to  better  themselves, 
but  how  to  "satisfy  themaelvee."  It  is  the  curse  of  every  evil  nar 
Hon  and  «ril  emSxat  to  eat,  and  not  be  satisfied.  The  words  of 
blessing  are,  that  they  diaU  eat  and  be  satisfied.  And  as  there  is 
only  one  kind  of  water  which  quenehes  all  tiiirst,  so  there  is  <mly 
one  kind  of  bread  which  satisfies  all  hunger,  the  bread  of  justice  or 
righteousness;  which  hungering  after,  men  shall  always  be  filled, 
that  being  the  bread  of  Heaven ;  but  hunmrine  after  the  bread,  or 
vaoM.  oiimiiditeoainesB,  shall  not  be  filled,  that  bung  the  bread 


TAKS  NO  TB0UBL0U8  THOUGHT. 

21.  And,  in  otdn  to  teach  men  how  to  be  satisfied,  it  is  nec 
casary  fully  to  understand  tha  art  and  ioy  of  humbk  life,— this,  at 
present,  of  ail  arts  or  sciences  being  ttie-one  most  naeding^stady. 
Humble  life— that  is  to  say,  proposing  to  itself  no  ftature  eialtatioo, 
hut  only  a  sweet  continuance;  not  excluding  the  idea  of  forwipht, 
hut  wholly  of  fore^rrow,  and  taking  no  troublous  thought  for 
ooming  days:  so,  also,  not  excluding  the  idea  of  providence,  or 
proTisum,  but  wholly  of  accumulation ;— the  life  of  domestic  af- 
nction  and  dmnestie  peace,  full  of  sensitiveness  to  all  elements  of 
costless  and  kind  pleasure;— therefore,  chi^  to  the  loveliness  of 
the  natural  world.— IX,  Ch.  11. 

t-n»f  «w  thrM  tWngB  that  are  never  MUifled,  yet.  four  tiling*  My  not,  It 
to  ummA-  tte  imm;  and  th*  bancn  woab;  tha  earth  that  to  not  filled  with 
tratw:  aa«  tts  iNk  ttat  sata  aet,  It  to  Msa^r 


VI 


PBK'BAPlfABMTTBMr 
(1861.) 

Thii  little  work  was  written  in  defenie  of  a  society  known  as  "Th* 
Pre-Raphaelite  Brethren,"  which  originated  in  the  desire  to  make 
nature  the  great  teacher  of  art  as  against  the  tendency  to  reduce 
it  to  a  set  of  rules. 

Ruflkin  based  his  pamphlet  on  a  text  from  his  own  writings  in 
"Modem  Painters,"  in  which  he  advised  that  young  artists  "should 
fo  to  oataie  in  all  sin^meH  of  heart,  and  talk  with  her  labori> 
ously  and  trustingly,  having  no  other  thought  but  how  best  to 
penetrate  her  meaning,  rejecting  nothing,  selecting  nothing,  and 
•coming  nothing." 

Through  the  whole  pamphlet  he  breathes  a  profound  admiration 
for  Turner,  who  as  his  model,  here  as  elsewhere.  But  the  key  to  it 
•n,  fn»n  ita  itmiftkki  tt  iU»  ^nkaum,  if  ia  At  cpMtog  ftut 
gn^b  m  foUoOT: 

.iC".>  :  ''mm  «a«  all  mr  should  wobk. 

It  ma.v  be  ^  ,  v^i  with  much  certainty,  tfcot  Qoi  intends  no  man 
to  live  iin  this  vorld  without  working,  but  it  seems  to  me  no  less 
evident  that  He  intends  every  mnr>  u>  i:;-  h  ppy  in  his  work.  It 
is  writtm,  "in  the  sweat  of  thv  bi.  i it  was  never  writtm. 
'Ha  ttw  Iwwiiiij  of  thy  heart/'  thou  obalt  eat  bread:  and  I  find 
that,  s«  en  the  ose  haai,  infinite  miwrv  is  caused  by  idle  peo> 
who  both  fai!  in  dcang  what  was  a^Muiled  tat  them  to  do,  and 
set  in  motion  ,.  '  ous  springs  o:  mischi  '  matters  in  which  they 
should  have  m  oacem,  so  on  the  other  hand,  no  small  misery  is 
caused  by  overworiced  and  unhappy  people,  in  the  dark  views  which 
they  necessarily  take  up  themselves,  ana  force  upon  others,  of  work 
itself.  Were  it  not  so,  I  believe  the  fact  of  their  being  unhfu>py  is 
in  itself  a  viidatifm  of  divine  law,  and  a  sign  of  some  kind  of  folly 
<ff  rin  in  their  way  (rf  life.  Now,  in  oidnr  that  people  may  be  happy 
in  their  work,  these  thrco  things  are  needed:  they  must  be  fit  lor 
it:  they  must  not  do  too  liiuch  of  it;  and  they  must  have  a  sense 
«f  sueeesi  in  it  no!  •  dmbtfol  sens^  audi  ai  aaad  loaw  testimony 


is6  THE  RELIOION  OF  RUSKIN 

of  other  people  for  its  confirmation,  but  a  sure  sense,  or  rather 
knowledge,  tnat  so  much  work  has  been  done  well,  and  fruitfully 
done,  whatever  the  world  may  say  or  think  about  it.  So  thaA  in 
order  that  a  man  may  be  happy,  it  ia  "necessary  thait  he  should  nok 
only  U  capable  of  hu  wod^  bat  ft  good  judge  of  bii  iradc 


VII 


GIOTTO  AND  HIS  WORKS  IN  PADUA. 
OmiVoK.  (1868.) 

Mr.  Raskin  tells  us,  thai  tiik  bode  was  not  wnttm  'Srith  any 
idea  of  attempting  a  history  of  Giotto's  life.  It  consists  of  a  series 
of  notes  in  explanation  of  the  frescoes  in  the  Arena  Chapel  at 
Padua.  Bnt  Mr.  Harrison  aayi  of  it:— 1  know  nothing  of 
Ruskin's  more  admirable,  and  more  valuable  than  this  sympathetic 
estimate  of  Giotto's  marvellous  genius  and  romantic  life,  with  these 
brief,  vhrid,  and  atrietly  bistorie  notes.  .  .  .  CKotto  waa  Ibe  moat 
profound,  the  most  humane,  the  soundest  and  most  balanced  intel- 
lect in  the  entire  history  of  modem  art  .  .  .  This,  Ruskin  waa 
the  first  to  teaeh  os.  His  estimate  of  GiottoVi  compositions  is  b«nd 
on  a  S3rmpathetic,  but  not  a  servile  understanding  of  tht  apocry- 
phal Goq>el8,  current  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  the  quaint  and 
beantiAiI  legmds  of  tbe  Virgin's  life." 

The  essay  consists  of  only  80  pages,  but  it  is  so  fully  in  harmony 
with  the  purpose  of  the  present  volume  that  we  find  it  difficult  to 
select  any  of  its  sentoiees  to  exclusion  of  others.  Tbe  reason 
for  this  is  made  apparent  in  the  following  passage :  "Giotto  was  not 
indeed  one  of  the  most  accomplished  painters,  but  he  was  one  of 
tbe  gnsalsst  mm,  who  eret  Ihred.  He  was  tlM  first  master  of  bis 
time,  in  architecture  as  well  as  in  painting;  he  was  the  friend  of 
Dante,  and  the  undisputed  interpreter  of  religious  truth,  by  meana 
of  painting,  over  tiie  whole  of  Itdy.  Hie  wtnks  of  such  a  man  may 
not  be  the  best  to  set  before  children  in  order  to  teach  them  draw- 
ing; but  tb«y  assuredly  should  be  studied  with  the  greatest  om 
by  aU  who  an  intmsted  in  Um  history  of  the  human  mind. 

As  far  as  I  am  aware,  he  never  painted  profane  subjects.  All 
bis  important  existing  works  are  exdnsivaly  daiTotod  to  the  ilhi»> 
tration  of  Christianity." 

The  frescoes  of  Scripture  subjects  in  Uie  di^>el  number  38.  Bi»> 
kin's  descriptive  npmmta&ai  of  these  worin  of  art  a£Fords  na  man 


ts8 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 


i  J.: 


than  a  glimpse  of  their  beauty  and  character.  Three  of  these  an  M> 
lected  here  as  examples  of  the  whole,  as  well  as  for  the  lessons  con- 
veyed in  these  rare  word-paintingi,  drawn  in  loving  tastimooy  ol  ft 
greal  artist's  woric 

THS  MABSIAOI  IN  CANA. 

23.  It  is  strange  that  the  sweet  significance  of  this  first  of 
the  miracles  should  have  been  lost  sight  of  by  nearly 
all  artists  after  Giotto;  and  that  no  effort  was  made  by  them  to 
conceive  the  drcomstances  of  it  in  simplicity.  The  poverty  of  the 
family  in  which  the  marriage  took  place, — proved  sufficiently  by 
the  fact  that  a  carpenter's  wife  not  only  was  asked  as  a  chief  guest» 
but  even  had  authority  over  the  servants, — is  shown  further  to 
have  been  distressful,  or  at  least  embarrassed,  poverty  by  their  want 
of  wine  on  such  an  occasion.  It  was  not  certainly  to  remedy  an 
accident  of  careless  provision,  but  to  supply  a  naed  sorrowfully  b^ 
traying  the  narrow  circumstmces  of  tlis  hosts,  that  our  Lord 
wrought  the  beginning  of  miracles.  Many  mystic  meanings  have 
been  sought  in  the  act,  which,  though  there  is  no  need  to  deny,  then 
is  little  evidence  to  certify:  bv.t  we  may  joyfully  accept,  aa  its  fhrst 
indisputable  meaning,  that  of  bimple  kindness ;  the  wine  bemg  pro- 
vided here,  when  needed,  as  the  bread  and  fish  were  afterwards 
the  hungry  multitudes.  The  whole  value  of  the  miracle,  in  its 
serviceable  tenderness,  is  at  once  effaced  when  the  marriage  is  sup- 
posed, as  by  Veronese  and  other  artists  of  later  times,  to  have  taken 
place  at  the  house  of  a  rich  man.  For  the  rest,  Oiotto  wifficiMiuy 
implies,  by  the  lifted  hand  of  the  Madonna,  and  the  action  of  the 
fingers  of  the  bridegroom,  as  if  they  held  sacramental  bread,  that 
there  lay  a  deeper  meaning  under  the  miracle  for  those  who  could 
aeeept  it.  How  all  miracle  m  accepted  by  common  humanity,  he 
his  ^  shown  in  the  figure  of  the  ruler  of  the  feast,  drinking. 
This  nnregarding  forgetfulness  of  present  spiritual  power  is  simi- 
larlv  marked  by  Veronese,  by  placing  the  fi^re  of  a  fool  with  his 
bauble  immediately  underneath  that  of  CSirist,  and  by  making  a 
cat  play  with  her  shadow  in  one  of  the  wine-vases. 

It  is  to  be  remembered,  however,  in  examining  all  pictures  of 
this  subject,  that  the  miracle  was  not  made  manifest  to  all  the 
guests:— 4o  none  indeed,  seemingly,  except  Christ's  own  disciples; 
the  ruler  of  the  feast,  and  probably  most  of  those  present  (except 
the  servants  who  drew  the  water),  knew  or  olyerved  notfaiM  of 
what  was  passing,  and  merely  thought  the  good  ma»  ma  mm 
until  now." 

Tfflt  LAST  SUPPKR. 

28  I  have  not  examined  the  original  fresco  with  caie 
enough  to  be  able  to  say  whether  the  uninteresting  quiet- 
ness of  its  derign  is  redeemed  by  more  than  ordinary  attention  to 
expression;  it  5  one  of  the  least  attractive  sab^  in  the  Arena 


RSUOIOVS  THOVQHT  IN  ART  159 

CluqwI.  and  always  wan  to  be  passed  over  in  any  general  obanrar 

tion  01  the  series:  nevertheless,  however  unfavourably  it  may  at 
first  contrast  wi*h  the  designs  of  later  masters,  and  especially  with 
Leonardo's,  the  1  >ader  should  not  fail  to  olwerve  that  Giotto  s  aim, 
had  it  been  successful,  was  the  higher  of  the  two,  as  giving  truer 
renderine  of  the  probable  fact  lliere  is  no  distinct  evidence,  in 
the  sacred  text,  of  the  annundatioii  of  coming  tteadiery  having  pio> 
dnced  among  the  disciples  the  violent  sunrise  and  agitati<m  lep* 
xesented  by  Leonardo.  Naturally,  they  would  not  at  first  understand 
vdiat  was  meant.  They  knew  nothing  distinctly  of  the  machina- 
tions of  the  prieste;  and  so  little  of  me  character  or  purposes  of 
Judas,  that  even  after  he  had  received  the  sop  which  was  to  point 
him  out  to  the  others  as  false; — and  after  they  had  heard  the  in- 
junction, "That  thou  doest,  do  quickly," — ^the  other  disciples  had 
still  no  conception  of  the  significance,  either  of  Uie  saying,  or  the 
act:  they  thought  that  Cihrist  meant  he  was  to  bay  scuneuiing  for 
the  feast.  Nay,  Judas  himself,  so  far  from  starting,  as  a  con- 
victed traitor,  and  thereby  betraying  himself,  as  in  Leonardo's  pic- 
ture, had  not,  when  Christ's  first  words  were  uttered,  any  immedi- 
ately active  intention  formed.  The  devil  had  not  entered  into  him 
until  he  received  the  sop.  The  passage  in  St.  John's  account  is  a 
curious  one,  and  little  noticed;  but  it  marks  very  distinctly  the 
paralysed  state  of  the  man's  mind.  He  had  talked  with  the  priests, 
covenanted  with  them,  and  even  sought  opportunity  to  bring  Jesus 
into  their  hands;  but  while  such  opportunity  was  wanting,  the  act 
had  never  presented  itself  fully  to  him  for  adoption  or  rejection. 
He  had  toyed  with  it,  dreamed  over  it,  hesitated,  and  procrastinated 
over  it,  as  a  stupid  and  cowardly  person  would,  such  as  traitors  are 
apt  to  be.  But  the  way  of  retreat  was  yet  open ;  the  conquest  of  the 
tempter  not  complete.  Only  after  receiving  the  sop  the  idea  finally 
pieesnted  itself  clearly,  and  was  accepted,  "To-night,  while  He  is  in 
the  flvden,  I  can  do  it;  and  I  will."  And  OmUo  has  indicated  this 
distmetly  by  giving  Judas  still  the  Apostle's  nimlnu,  both  in  this 
subject  and  in  that  of  the  Washing  of  the  Feet;  while  it  is  taken 
away  in  the  previous  subject  of  the  Hiring,  and  the  following  one 
of  the  Seirare:  Uius  it  fluctuates,  expires,  and  reillumines  itself, 
until  his  fall  is  consummated.  This  being  the  general  state  of  the 
Apostles'  knowled^,  the  words,  "One  of  you  shallbetray  me,"  would 
cMite  no  feeling  in  their  minds  oonMpondent  to  that  with  which 
w  now  nad  tihe  prophet  sentenee.  VfhtA  this  "giving  up"  of 
tiirir  Mastor  meant  became  a  question  of  Utter  and  self-searching 
thought  with  tiiem, — gradually  of  intense  sorrow  and  questioning. 
But  had  Uiey  understcwd  it  in  the  sense  we  now  understand  it,  they 
would  never  have  each  asked,  "Lord,  is  it  I?"  Peter  believed  him- 
self incapable  even  of  denying  Christ ;  and  of  giving  him  up  to  death 
for  moM9,  every  (me  of  nis  true  disciples  knew  themselves  inc^H 
dile;  ^  i^MOffA  Mmr  oeeoned  to  Unb.  In  dowly-inmwdng 


i6e  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

ironder  and  wrrow  (rtpiavTo  Xv»«oAu,  Mark  xiv.  19),  not  knowing 
what  was  meant,  they  asked  one  by  one,  with  pauses  between,  la 
it  I?"  and  another,  '"is  it  I?"  and  this  so  quietly  and  timidly  that 
the  one  who  was  lying  on  Christ's  breast  never  ^'I'-fed  jrom  hw 
place;  and  FMer,  afraid  to  apeak,  ugned  to  him  to  ask  who  it  was. 

TBI  wmwacnoK. 

36    Quite  one  of  the  loveliest  designs  of  the  sMiea.  It  waa 
a    favorite    subject    with    Giotto;  meeting,  in    all    it%  con- 
ditions, his  love  of  what  was  most  mysterious,  yet  most  comforting 
and  full  of  hope,  in  the  doctrines  of  his  religion.   His  joy  in  the 
fact  of  the  Resurrection,  his  sense  of  its  function,  as  the  key  and 
primal  truth  of  CSumtianity,  was  far  too  deep  to  allow  him  to  dwell 
on  any  of  its  minor  circumstances,  as  later  designers  did,  repre- 
senting the  moment  of  bursting  the  tomb,  and  the  suppoeed  terror 
of  its  guards.   With  Giotto  the  leading  thought  u  not  of  phyn^l 
reanimation,  nor  of  the  momentarily  exerted  power  of  bredting  toe 
bars  of  the  grave;  but  the  consummation  of  Chnsts  work  in  tne 
first  manifesting  to  human  eyes,  and  the  eyes  of  one  who  had  loved 
Him  and  believed  in  Him,  His  power  to  take  aeiun  the  life  He  had 
hud  down.  This  first  appearance  to  her  out  of  whomHe  had  cast 
seven  devils  is  indeed  the  very  central  fact  of  the  ^'^^^''^■J^^ 
keepers  had  not  seen  Christ;  they  had  seen  only  the  an§el  descend- 
Sf  whose  countenance  was  like  liditning:  for  fear  of  him  ffiey  he 
can^e  as  dead;  yet  this  fear,  though  great  enough  to .canse  Oiem  to 
mroon,  was  s^  far  conquered  at  the  return  of  mornmg,  that  they 
wen  ready  to  take  money-payment  for  giving  a  false  report  of  the 
dreuSSces.  The  Magdalen,  therefore,  is  t\e  first  witness  of  the 
SmSion;  to  the  love,  for  whose  sake  much  had  been  forgiven, 
S^Sft  is  a  so  first  given;  and  as  the  first  witn^  of  the  truth,  so 
she  f the  first  messenger  of  the.Gospel.  ^^^^.i^^S!. 
granted  to  proclaim  the  Resurrection  to  all  nations;  hot  the  Mtgdft- 
fen  was  bidden  to  proclaim  it  to  the  Apostles. 

In  the  chapel  of  the  Bargello,  Giotto  has  rendered  this  ™ 
«t  m«e  pa^onate  sympathy.  Here  however,  ^ts  significance  w 
WwlrTtlioiiffhtfullv  indicated  through  all  the  accessones,  down  even 
rSe  wSr^  tii^SS^^^  whfle  those  of  the  garden 

W  into  le^  This  <^^i^-^ r^^^^AitL^h^ 
boughs  were  compared  by  the  9>e^J!S?^"?»H 
nei&bouring  deslgas,  tbooi  ^  &  the  detMlMd  plate,  it  might  eenly 

be  tort  light  of. 


VIII 


THE  ELEMENTS  OP  DRAWING. 
Thbcb  Lbttsbs  to  Bbqinkebs.  (1866.) 
With  Illvbtrations. 

TMb  little  vdmne  of  leas  than  200  pages  wm  fint  taod  m  a  Muraal 

Elementary  Drawing  and,  as  such,  was  in  popular  demand  as  soon 
m  pobliahed.  It  was  not  however  designed  by  the  Author  as  a  Man* 
ual  for  Artists,  bat  as  s  book  of  suggestions  and  instonetion  for  the 
young.  It  is  written  in  the  most  simple  and  captivating  form  of 
language,  so  that,  even  to  those  who  care  nothing  for  the  art  of  draw> 
ing,  it  is  one  of  the  most  ^lig^tful  books  fat  the  young  to  read. 

Ruskin  believed  that  everybody  could  learn  drawing;  that  the 
head  and  hand  could  be  trained  to  steady  thought  and  aim,  and  that 
the  result  would  be  to  greatly  augment  the  vision  and  powers  of  the 
mind.  He  illustrated  the  simplicity  of  the  art  in  this  volume  by 
drawings  of  his  own,  which  are  given  in  the  illustrations  of  all  good 
«£tions  of  his  works.  The  sabjeeta  are  treated  frmn  the  stand* 
points  of:— 1.  "First  Practice."  2.  "Slntdung  txma  Natara." 
8.   "Color  and  Composition." 

This  is  one  of  the  books  that  ouf^t  to  be  available  in  a  handy 
form  for  its  practical  value  and  beauty  of  e^mrioD,  aa  mU  M  lot 
its  worth  as  a  class  book  for  students. 

IX 

THE  ELEMENTS  OF  nERSPEOTIVE. 

AnuHCMD  w»  THB  Use  OF  Schools.  (18^9.) 

A  supplementary  volume  to  "The  Elements  of  Drawing,"  and, 
like  it,  ought  to  be  available  as  a  handy  book,  or  manual,  for  the 
yoiitli  of  oor  land.  It  is  written  with  great  clearness  and  concise* 
ness,  in  one  hnndied  paps,  and  the  sobjeel  is  illmtn^  BuaUn 
himself. 

It  is  strictly  what  it  i«ofeases  to  be,  a  school-book  of  instructioa 
and  is  exceptional,  among  the  Author's  works,  in  that  it  offers  no 
moral  sermons,  or  religious  teaching,  other  than  that  of  the  truth  of 
the  subject  itMlf. 


X 

ADDBESS  AT  CAHBRIDGHB. 
(1858.) 

(Repabliafaed  in  Vol.  I.  "On  the  Old  Boad.") 

An  inangaral  address  delivered  at  a  school  of  Art,  designed  for 
workmen,  treating  of  the  principles  to  be  applied  in  such  a  schooL 
And  yet  Ruskin  here  announced  that  the  Commercial  value  of  Art 
cannot  be  acquired  in  this  way.  "You  may  lecture  on  the  prinfli> 
pies  of  Art  to  every  school — and  you  will  find  that  it  can't  be  done  on 
principles.  .  .  .  There's  no  way  of  getting  good  Art  but  on^— 
at  once  the  simplest  and  most  difficult — namely  to  enjoy  it.  Exam- 
ine the  history  of  nations,  and  you  will  find  that  good  Art  has  only 
been  produced  by  nations  who  rejoiced  in  it;  fed  themselves  with  it, 
as  if  it  were  bread;  basked  in  it,  as  if  it  were  sunshine;  shouted  at 
the  sight  of  it;  danced  with  the  delight  of  it;  quarrelled  for  it; 
starved  for  it;  did,  in  fact,  precisely  the  opposite  with  it  of  what  we 
want  to  do  with  it — they  make  it  to  keep  and  we  to  sell." 

And  again  he  says  in  this  lecture: — "Thus  end  all  the  arts  of  life, 
only  in  death ;  and  thus  issue  all  the  gifts  of  man,  only  in  dishonor, 
when  they  are  pursued  or  possessed  in  the  service  olf  pleasure  only." 

This,  in  fact  is  the  real  theme  of  the  address:  "Even  when  paint- 
ing does  appear  to  have  been  pursued  for  pleasure  only,  if  ever  yon 
find  it  rise  to  any  noble  level,  you  will  also  find  that «  rtam  MMwh 
•f(«  truth  has  been  at  the  root  of  iti  noUenen." 

NOBLEST  THINOB  JjOBT. 

"1  had  hoped  to  show  you  how  many  of  the  best  impulses  of  the 
heart  were  lost  in  frivolity  or  sensuality,  for  want  of  purer  beauty  to 
contMnplate,  and  of  noble  thoughts  to  associate  with  the  fervor  of 
htJIowed  passion ;  how,  finally,  a  great  part  of  the  vital  power  of  our 
religious  faith  was  lost  in  us,  for  want  of  such  art  as  would  realize  in 
come  rational,  probable,  believable  way,  those  events  of  sacred  his- 
tory which,  as  tnev  visibly  arid  intelligituy  ooconed,  may  alao  be  tM> 
bly  and  intelligibly  represented." 

ESTEEM  OF  GBEATBR  WORKS  THAX  OITK  OWN. 

"What  you  may  have  to  teach  the  young  men  here  is,  not  so  much 
what  they  ean  do,  It  what  they  cannot^— to  make  tbom  tee  bow 

i6s 


RELWmUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  163 

much  there  is  in  nature  which  cannot  be  imitated,  and  how  much  in 
man  which  cannot  be  emulated.  He  only  can  be  truly  said  to  be 
educated  in  Art  to  whom  all  his  work  is  only  a  feeble  sign  of  gloriet 
w^h  be  MDBOt  convey,  and  a  feeble  means  of  measuring,  with 
ev«r  enlarging  admiration,  the  great  and  untntmBable  gulf  whidl 
€rod  has  set  b^men  Ae  great  and  the  oommon  intelligenoeB  of  man- 
Idod;  aad  idl  the  triumphs  of  Art  which  man  can  commonly  achieve 
are  only  erowned  by  pure  delight  in  natural  scenes  themselves,  and 
bv  the  sacred  and  self-forgetful  veneration  which  can  be  nobly 
■saslwd,  and  tremblingly  exalted,  in  the  presence  of  a  human 


XI 


HISTORY  AND  CRITICISM  OF  ART. 

1.  Lord  Lindsay's  "Christian  Art."  1847. 

2.  Eastlake's  History  of  Oil  Painting.  1848. 
8.   Samuel  Prout.  1849. 

4.  Sir  Jodiua  and  Holbeiii.  1860. 

Thew  emys  are  in  the  nature  of  "leviers"  of  the  works  named. 
They  are  among  the  best  examples  of  Raskin's  critical  mind.  They 
are  the  work  of  a  Master  who  knows  his  subject  and  is  fully  quali* 
fied  to  detect  all  weaknesses,  and  point  to  the  demmti  of  strength. 
Ruskin  speaks  of  Lindsay  as  his  own  "first  master  in  Italian  art," 
and  in  "The  Eagle's  Nest"  twenty-five  yean  later  he  pays  high  trib- 
ute to  him  ai  a  "historian  of  art."  The  nador  who  desires  a  clear 
view  of  the  correspondence  of  the  departments  of  art  with  those  of 
human  development  would  do  well  to  read  this  review.  We  quote 
<aly  the  olanng  peaage: — 

raoonna  or  nations. 

"Whatever  else  we  maj  deem  of  the  Progress  of  Nations,  one  ehar- 
aetw  of  that  proeraas  is  determined  and  discernible.  As  in  the 
encroachment  of  the  land  upon  the  sea,  the  strength  of  the  sandy 
bastions  is  raised  out  of  the  sifted  ruin  of  ancient  mland  hills — for 
every  tongue  of  level  land  that  stretches  into  the  deep,  the  fall  of 
Alps  has  been  heard  among  the  clouds,  and  as  the  fields  of  industry 
enlarge,  the  intercourse  with  Heaven  is  shortened.  Let  it  not  be 
doubted  tiiiait  as  this  change  is  inevitable,  so  H  is  expedient,  thoup^ 
the  form  of  teaching  adopted  and  of  duty  prescribed  be  less  mythic 
and  contemplative  more  active  and  unassisted: — for  the  light  of 
Transfiguration  on  the  Mountain  is  substituted  the  Fire  ofCoals 
upon  the  Shore,  and  on  the  charge  to  hear  the  Shepherd,  follows 
that  to  feed  the  Sheep.  Doubtful  we  mav  be  for  a  time,  and  appar- 
ently deserted,  but  if,  as  we  wait,  we  still  look  forward  with  steadfast 
will  and  humble  heart,  so  that  our  Hope  for  the  Future  may  be  fed, 
not  dulled  or  diverted  by  our  love  for  the  Past,  we  shall  not  be  long 
]eft  without  a  Guide: — the  way  will  be  opened,  the  FNearsor  u>- 
pointed— the  Hour  will  come,  and  the  Man." 


VEumova  thovost  in  art  i<f 


The  Euay  on  "Eastbke"  is  a  nview  of  that  nttMr^  ''Oalorj  of 
Oil  Painting"  and  of  an  Essay  by  "Theophilua"— Priest  ami  Monk. 
'  "Samuel  Prouf  diffen  from  tho  fint  two  of  tbii  Ntiei,  in  tho 
tomeo  and  setting  of  the  sabjeet  Rodda  hen  talk  tbe  intanating 
story  of  the  English  boy,  stirred  to  enthusiasm  by  his  love  for  waters 
color  work  just  when  Tomer  was  giving  new  and  enlargmg  em* 
oeptions  of  that  phase  of  art  Raskin  further  showi  a  how  Front 
entered  into  new  fields  and  studied  architectural  drawing,  and 
•ays:  "There  is  not  a  landsape  of  recent  timet  in  which  the  treat- 
ment of  the  ardiiteetoral  f eatorcs  hae  not  been  affected  by  prindplee 
which  were  first  developed  by  Proui" 

Sir  Joshua  and  Holbein,  the  last  of  the  four  reviews  was  devoted  to 
a  friendly  criticism  of  two  great  paintings  by  Sir  Joahiji  Reynolds, 
irii.:  "The  Holy  Family,"  and  "Hm  Qiaoea,*"  and  Holhein'a  Ha. 
donna." 

These  eesayt  were  fint  jtubluhed  a$  Uagadne  ariielee  and  were  in- 
«Mtdinat9finivohmeof'*0%tk*OURo9i.*'  S^tAfpmdia, 


LBCrUBES  ON  AST. 
On  You  siviir  Laonnn.  (IffTO.) 

In  these  lectures,  delivered  at  the  University  of  Oxford,  we  have 
Eoskin  at  the  beat  of  hia  scholarship.  In  other  wwki  he  is  often 
more  entertaining: — his  pen  pictures  appeal  more  readily  to  the  pop- 
ular taste; — at  other  times  he  declaims  against  evil  things  with 
greater  passion,  or  speaks  with  intenser  prophetic  fire  as  the  "voice  of 
one  crying  in  the  wilderness!" 

But  here,  Ruskin  is  the  Critic  among  critics,  and  he  speaks  with  a 
greater  care  for  accuracy;  here  he  is  Uxe  Teacher, — the  Professor  of 
the  grand  old  Univndty.  Here  thm  we  lodt  for  itadied  ixpnmicm, 
—words  well  wu^^ud,  the  very  beil  (rf  Um  Pbiloeopher.  And  troly 
we  find  it. 

The  respective  tities  of  theee  aeven  leotoree  are  aaggeetive: — (1) 

Inaugural.  (2.)  The  Relation  of  Art  to  Religion.  (3.)  The 
Relation  ol  Art  to  Morals.  (4)  The  Relation  of  Art  to  Uae.  (5) 
Line.  (6)  Light  (7)  Color.  The  second  and  Uiird  of  tinae 
are  especially  to  be  commended  from  the  standpoint  of  our  present 
study.   All  religious  teachers  should  read  them  over  and  over  again. 

In  one  of  the  following  selections,  (clauses  88,  84)  we  find  •  sag* 
geetion  of  Ghailes  M.  Sheldon's  Story,  "Robert  Bat&ft  Seven  Days." 

THS  PBIDK  or  FAITH. 

38.  Above  all  thinp,  see  that  you  be  modest  In  your  thoughts, 
for  of  this  one  thing  we  may  be  absolutely  sure,  that  ell  our  thoughts 
are  but  degrees  of  darkness.  And  in  these  days  you  have  to  guard 
uainst  the  fatalle^.e  darkness  of  two  opposite  Prides:  the  Pride  of 
^iith,  which  imagines  that  the  Nature  of  the  Deity  can  be  defined 
by  its  convictions;  and  the  Pride  of  Sdenoe,  which  imagines  that 
the  Energy  of  Deity  can  be  explained  by  its  analysis. 

39.  Of  these,  the  first,  the  Pride  of  Faith,  is  now,  aa  it  has  been 
always,  the  most  deadly,  because  the  most  complacent  and  subtle; 
because  it  invests  every  evil  passion  of  our  nature  with  the  aspect  of 
an  angel  of  light,  and  enables  the  stilf-love,  which  might  otherwise 
have  been  pot  to  wlMksome  ehome,  and  the  erael  caielessness  of  the 

i66 


RELIOIOVS  THOVOllf  IN  ART  i6f 

rain  of  cm  fOem-muk.  wliieh  might  othenriM  have  been  warmed 
into  human  love,  or  at  iMMt  efaeek^  by  human  intemoenoe,  to  con- 
Mai  themaelvfli  into  the  mortal  intellsctual  diieaM  of  imadnins 
uat  mynada  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  world  for  four  thousandyean 
have  been  left  to  wander  and  periah,  many  of  them  everlaitingly, 
m  order  that,  in  fuUneaa  of  time,  divine  truth  misht  be  prMchea 
sufficiently  to  ourselves;  with  this  farther  ineffable  misobief  for 
direct  result,  that  multitude!  of  kindly-disposed,  gentie,  and  submis- 
nve  persons,  who  mi^  «Im  by  their  true  patienee  have  alloyed  the 
AMdnM  of  the  commtm  erowd,  and  by  their  activity  for  good,  bal- 
Meed  iti  misdoing,  are  withdrawn  from  all  such  true  service  of  man, 
that  they  may  pass  the  best  part  of  their  lives  in  what  they  are  told  is 
the  service  of  God ;  namel  v,  desiring  what  they  cannot  obtain,  lament- 
ing wbal  tbij  ooald  amid,  and  idbettng  «B  wlutt  tbay  et^^ 
ttand 

BIQHT  THIN08  PBOCEED  FROM  THS  DIVINE. 

44.  The  more  impartially  you  examine  the  phenomena  of  im- 
agination, the  more  firmly  you  will  be  led  to  conclude  that  they  an 
ue  result  of  the  infloenee  of  the  common  and  vital,  but  not,  there- 
fore, less  divine  spirit,  of  which  some  portion  is  given  to  all  living 
creatures  in  such  manner  as  may  be  adapted  to  their  rank  in  crea- 
tion ;  and  that  everything  which  men  rightly  accomplish  is  indeed 
done  by  divine  help,  but  under  a  consistent  law  which  is  never  de- 
parted from. 

The  strength  of  this  spiritual  life  within  us  may  be  increased  or 
lessened  by  our  own  concniet;  it  varies  from  time  to  time,  as  physical 
ftrength  varies;  it  is  summoned  on  different  oocadons  oy  our  will, 
and  dejeeted  by  our  distresi,  or  our  sin;  but  it  is  always  equally 
human,  and  equally  divine.  We  are  men,  and  not  mere  animals, 
because  a  special  form  of  it  is  with  us  alwajrs;  we  are  nobler  and 
baser  men,  as  it  is  with  us  more  or  less ;  but  it  is  Miver  ghreo  to  Oi  Ul 
any  degree  which  can  make  us  more  than  men. 

RELIGION  AND  RBALISTIC  AKT. 

66.  In  its  higher  branches  it  touches  the  most  sincere  religious 
minds,  affecting  an  earnest  class  of  persons  who  cannot  be  reach^  by 
merely  poeticaTcbsimi ;  while  in  its  loweit,  it  addressei  itidf  nci  only 
to  the  moat  vnlj^  desires  for  relisioiii  exdtraoent,  but  to  the  mere 
thirst  for  sensation  of  horror  wmch  characterises  the  uneducated 
orders  of  partially  civilized  countries;  nor  merely  to  the  thirst  for 
horror,  but  to  the  strange  love  of  death,  as  such,  which  has  sometimes 
in  Catholic  countries  diowed  itself  peculiarly  by  the  endeavor  to 
^aint  the  images  in  the  chapels  of  the  Sepulchre  so  as  to  look  decep- 
tivelv  like  corpses.  The  same  morbid  instinct  has  also  affected  the 
minds  of  many  among  the  more  imaginative  and  powerful  artirti 
irith  a  feverish  gloom  whidi  distorti  wax  finest  won;  mi  Iai^~ 


i68  THE  RELIGION  OF  RV8KIN 

and  this  is  the  wotst  of  all  its  effects — it  has  occupied  the  sensibility 
of  Christian  women,  universally,  in  lamenting  the  sufferings  of 
Christ,  instead  of  preventing  those  of  His  people. 

57.  When  any  of  you  next  go  abroad,  observe,  and  consider  the 
meaning  of  the  sculptures  and  paintings,  which  of  every  rank  in  art, 
and  in  every  chapel  and  cathedral,  and  by  every  mountain  path,  re- 
call the  hours,  and  represent  the  agonies,  of  the  Passion  of  Christ: 
and  try  to  form  some  estimate  of  the  efforts  that  have  been  made  by 
the  four  arts  of  eloquence,  music,  painting,  and  sculpture,  since  the 
twelfth  century,  to  wring  out  of  the  hearts  of  women  the  last  drops 
of  pity  that  could  be  excited  for  this  merely  physical  agony :  for  the 
art  nearly  always  dwells  on  the  physical  wounds  or  exhaustion  chiefly 
and  degrades,  far  more  than  it  animates,  the  conception  of  pain. 

Then  try  to  conceive  the  quantity  of  time,  and  of  excited  and 
thrilling  emotion,  which  have  been  wasted  by  the  tender  and  deli- 
cate women  of  Christendom  during  these  last  six  hundred  years,  in 
thus  picturing  to  themselves,  under  the  influence  of  such  imagery,  the 
bodily  pain,  long  since  passed,  of  One  Person — which,  so  far  as  they 
indeed  conceived  it  to  be  sustained  by  a  divine  nature,  could  not  for 
that  reason  have  been  less  endurable  than  the  agonies  of  any  simple 
human  death  by  torture;  and  then  try  to  estimate  what  mi^t  have 
been  the  better  result,  for  the  righteousness  and  felicity  of  mankind, 
if  these  same  women  had  been  taught  the  deep  meaning  of  the  last 
words  that  were  ever  spoken  by  their  Master  to  those  who  had  minis- 
tered to  Him  of  their  substance:  "Daughters  of  Jerusalem,  weop 
not  for  me,  but  weep  for  yourselves,  and  for  your  ebildrm.'' 

BIGHT  RECOGNITION  OP  DEEDS. 

B8.   Think,  what  history  might  have  been  to  us  now;  nay,  what  ft 

different  history  that  all  of  Europe  might  have  become,  if  it  had  but 
been  the  object  both  of  the  people  to  discern,  and  of  their  arts  to 
honor  and  bear  record  of  the  great  deeds  of  their  worthiest  men. 
And  if,  instead  of  living,  as  they  have  always  hitherto  done,  in  a  hell- 
ish cloud  of  contention  and  revenge,  lighted  by  fantastic  dreams  of 
cloudy  sanctities,  they  had  sought  to  reward  and  punish  justly,  wher- 
ever reward  and  punishment  were  due,  but  chiefly  to  reward ;  and  at 
least  rather  to  bear  testimony  to  the  human  acts  which  deserved 
God's  anger  or  His  blessing,  than  onlv  in  presumptuous  imagination 
to  display  the  secrets  of  Judgment,  of  the  oeatitudes  of  Eternity. 

THX  MABTSB'S  CB0B8  AKD  0VB8. 

59.  Such  T  conceive  generally,  though  indeed  with  good  arising 
out  of  it,  for  every  great  evil  brings  some  good  in  its  backward 
eddies — such  I  conceive  to  have  been  the  deadly  function  of  art  in  its 
ministry  to  what,  whether  in  heathen  or  Christian  lands,  and 
whether  in  the  pi^eantry  of  words,  or  coloitB,  at  USt  forms,  is  truly* 


REUOIOVS  TEOVQHT  IN  ART  169 

and  in  the  deep  sense,  to  be  called  idolatry — the  serving  with  the 
best  of  our  hearts  and  minds,  some  decu:  or  sad  fantasy  which  we  have 
made  for  ourselves,  while  we  disobey  the  present  call  of  the  Master, 
who  is  not  dead,  and  who  is  not  now  fainting  undw  Hia  Gross,  but 
requiring  us  to  take  up  ouis. 

THE  VALUB  OF  A  CONSBCBATED  PLACE  OF  PRAYER. 

61.  Do  not  think  I  underrate  the  importance  of  the  sentiments 
oonnected  with  their  church  to  the  population  of  a  pastoral  "  'llage. 
I  admit,  in  its  fullest  extent,  the  moral  value  of  the  scene,  wuich  is 
almost  always  one  of  perfect  purity  and  peace ;  and  of  the  sense  of 
Bupematural  love  and  protection,  which  fills  and  surrounds  the  low 
aisles  and  homely  porch.  But  the  question  I  desire  earnestly  to 
leave  with  you  is,  whether  all  the  earth  ouj^t  not  to  be  peaceful  and 
pure,  and  Hkf  acknowledgment  of  the  divine  protection  as  nniver- 
eal,  as  its  reality?  That  in  a  mysterious  way  the  preesnce  of  Deity  is 
vouchsafed  where  it  is  sought,  and  withdrawn  where  it  is  forgotten, 
must  of  course  be  granted  as  the  first  postulate  in  the  inquiry:  but 
the  point  for  our  decision  is  just  this,  whetiber  it  oug^t  always  to 
be  aooi^t  in  <me  place  only,  and  forg^otten  in  evwy  oOm. 

DBCORATIOK  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF  WORSHIP. 

62.  Suppose  it  be  admitted  that  by  inclosing  ground  with  walls, 
and  perfonning  certain  ceremonies  there  habitu^ly.  some  kind  of 
aancnty  is  indeed  secured  within  that  space — still  tne  question  re* 
mains  open  whether  it  be  advisable  for  religious  purposes  to  decorate 
the  enclosure.  For  separation  the  mere  walls  would  be  enough. 
What  is  the  purpose  of  your  decoration? 

Let  us  take  an  instance — the  most  notable  with  which  I  am  ao- 
qusdnted,  the  Cathedral  of  Chartres.  You  have  there  the  most  splen^ 
did  colored  glass,  and  the  richest  sculpture,  and  the  grandest  pn>> 
portions  of  building,  united  to  produce  a  senscrfion  of  pleasure  and 
awe.  We  profess  that  this  is  to  honor  the  Deity;  or  in  other  words, 
that  it  is  pleasing  to  Him  that  we  should  delight  our  eyes  with  blue 
and  gold  and  vermilion ;  windows  lighted  from  within  hy  the  luster 
stones  laid  one  on  another,  and  ingeniously  carved. 

THE  BEAUTY  OF  GOD'S  TEMPLE. 

63.  I  do  not  think  that  it  can  be  doubted  that  it  r«  pleasing  to 
Him  when  we  do  this;  for  He  has  Himself  prepared  for  us,  nearly 
every  morning  and  evening^  windows  painted  with  divine  art,  in  bliw 
and  gold  and  vermilion ;  windows  lighted  from  within  by  the  luster 
of  that  heaven  which  we  may  assume,  at  least  with  more  certainty 
than  any  consecrated  ground,  to  be  one  of  His  dwelling^laoes. 
Again,  in  every  mountain  aid^  and  diff  of  rude  sea^^iwe,  He  hm 


tjo  THE  RELIGION  OF  BUSKIN 

lieaped  stones  one  upon  another  of  greater  magnitude  than  those  of 
Chartres  Cathedral,  and  sculptured  them  wi^  miai  ornament— soxe* 
ly  nirt  Im  «Mrsd  beoaoae  bving. 

CONSIDKB  THE  "WOBX.  OT  HIS  HAKDfl. 

64.  Must  it  not  then  be  only  because  we  love  our  own  work  better 
than  His,  that  we  respect  the  lucent  glass,  but  not  the  lucent  clouds; 
that  we  weave  embroidered  robes  with  ingenious  fingers,  and  make 
bright  the  gilded  vaults  we  have  beautifully  ordaine<£— while  yet  we 
have  not  considered  the  heavens  the  work  of  His  fingers;  nor  the 
stars  of  the  strange  vault  which  Ho  has  ordair.ad.  AncTdo  we  dream 
that  by  carving  fonts  and  lifting  pillars  in  His  honor,  who  cuts  the 
way  of  the  nvers  among  the  rocks,  and  at  whose  reproof  the 
pillars  of  the  earth  are  astonished,  we  shall  obtain  pardon  for 
the  dishonor  done  to  the  hills  and  streams  by  which  He  has  ap- 
pointed our  dwelling-place — for  the  infection  of  their  sweet  air 
with  poison — for  the  burning  up  of  their  tender  grass  and 
flowers  with  fire,  and  for  spreading  such  a  shame  of  mixed  luxoxy 
and  misery  over  oar  native  lands,  as  if  we  labored  only  thatj  at 
least  here  in  England,  we  might  be  able  to  give  the  he  to  the 
song,  whether  of  the  Cherubim  above,  or  Church  beneath — "Holy, 
holy.  Lord  God  of  all  oreatoni;  Emna—md  Ettrth—m  fall  of 
Thy  glory?" 


65.  This  is  the  thing  which  I  know— and  which,  if  yon  labor  faith- 
fully, you  shall  know  also — ^that  in  reverence  is  the  chief  joy  and 
power  of  life — reverence  for  what  is  pure  and  bright  in  your  own 
youth;  for  what  is  true  and  tried  in  the  age  of  others:  for  all  that  is 
gracious  among  the  living,  great  among  tne  dead,  ana  marveloas  ia 
me  powers  that  cannot  die. — Leet.  II. 

BONO  AN  INDEX  TO  MOBAL  EMOTION. 

67.  Ton  must  have  the  right  moral  state  first,  or  you  cannot  have 
the  art  Bat  when  the  art  is  once  obtained,  its  reflected  action,  en- 
hances and  completes  the  moral  state  out  of  which  it  arose,  and, 
above  all,  communicates  Uie  exaltation  to  other  minds  which  are  al- 
ready morally  capable  of  the  like. 

For  instance,  take  the  art  of  sin^ng,  and  the  simplest  perfect 
master  of  it  (up  to  the  limits  of  his  nature)  whom  can  you  find — a 
skylark.  From  him  you  m^  learn  what  it  is  to  "sing  for  joy." 
You  must  get  the  moral  state  first,  the  pure  gladness,  then  give  it  fin* 
ished  expression ;  and  it  is  perfeotiBd  in  itself,  and  made  oommnniea* 
ble  to  otner  ereatorea  capable  of  such  joy.  But  it  is  ineommnnieft* 
ble  to  tiMM  who  are  not  prepared  to  receive  it. 

Now  M  right  human  song  is,  simiiariv,  the  finished  expression,  by 
art,  <tf  Ihe  joy  or  grief  of  nome  pteaoas,  fx  rigitt  And 


RBUGI0U8  TEOVQHT  IN  ART  171 

aMy  in  proportion  to  the  riehtneas  of  the  cause,  and  purity  of  the 
«notion,  is  the  possibility  of  the  fine  art  A  maiden  may  sing  of 
her  lost  love,  but  a  miser  cannot  sing  of  his  lost  money.  And  with 
abadute  preoiiion  from  highest  to  lowest,  the  fineness  of  the  possible 
art  11  an  index  of  tiie  moral  purity  and  majesty  of  the  emotion  it 
expresses.  You  may  test  it  practically  at  any  instant.  Question 
with  yourselves  respecting  any  feeling  that  has  taken  strong  posses- 
Mon  of  your  mind,  "Could  this  be  sung  by  a  master,  and  sung  nobly, 
with  a  true  melody  and  art?"  Then  it  is  a  rirfit  feeling.  Could  it 
not  be  sung  at  all,  or  only  sung  ludicrously  ?  It  is  a  base  one.  And 
that  is  so  in  all  the  arts;  so  that  with  mathonatieal  pndaion,  subject 
to  no  error  or  exception,  the  art  of  a  natkm.  w  far  as  it  eziite.  is  an 
aqxment  of  its  ethical  atata. 

GOOD  LANOUAQB  BOOZB)  IN  MORAL  CBABACTKB. 

iM.  An  ezpraent,  observe,  and  exalting  influence;  but  not  the 
loot  or  cause.  You  cannot  paint  or  sing  yourselves  into  being  good 
men;  you  must  be  good  men  before  you  can  either  paint  or  sing, 
and  then  the  color  and  sound  will  complete  in  you  all  that  is  best 

No  art-teaching  could  be  of  use  to  you,  but  would  rather  be  harm- 
ful, unless  It  was  grafted  on  something  deeper  than  all  art  For  in- 
deed  not  only  with  this,  but  much  more  with  the  art  of  all  men,  that 
of  language,  the  chief  vices  of  education  have  arisen  from  the  one 
great  fallacy  of  rapposing  that  noble  language  is  a  communicable 
uick  of  grammar  and  accent,  instead  of  simply  the  careful  expres- 
non  of  right  thought  All  the  virtues  of  language  are,  in  their  roots, 
moral;  it  becomes  accurate  if  the  speaker  desires  to  be  true;  clear,  if 
he  speaks  with  sympathy  and  a  <lesire  to  be  intelligible;  powerful,  if 
he  has  earnestness;  pleasant  if  he  has  sense  of  rhythm  and  order, 
^ere  are  no  other  virtues  of  language  producible  by  art  than  these; 
but  let  me  mariE  more  deeply  for  an  instant  the  significance  of  one 
of  them.  Language,  I  said,  is  only  dear  when  it  is  sympathetic. 
You  can,  m  truth,  undentand  a  man's  word  only  by  understanding 
his  temper.  Your  own  word  is  also  as  of »  n  unknown  tongue  to  him 
unless  he  understands  yours.  And  it  is  this  which  makes  the  art  of 
laflguage,  if  any  one  is  to  be  chosen  separately  from  the  rest,  that 
which  IS  fittest  for  the  instrument  of  a  gentleman's  education.  To 
teach  the  meaning  of  a  word  thorouj^y  is  to  teadb  the  nature  of  the 
spirit  that  coined  it;  the  secret  of  language  is  the  Mcret  of  sympathy, 
and  Its  full  charm  is  possible  only  to  the  gentle.  And  thus  the  prin- 
ciples of  bwutiful  speech  have  all  been  fixed  by  sincere  and  kindly 
speech.  On  the  laws  which  have  been  determined  by  sincerity, 
false  speech,  apparently  beautiful,  may  afterward  be  constructed; 
but  all  such  utterance,  whether  in  oration  or  poetry,  is  not  only  with- 
out permanent  power,  but  it  is  destructive  of  the  principles  it  has 
nsurp^.  So  long  as  no  words  are  uttered  but  in  faithfulnesL  eo 
kBg  tht  ait  of  laogoage  goes  on  exalting  itnlf ;  bat  tba  moment  it 


I 


179  THE  BEUGION  OF  BUSKIN 

is  shaped  and  daaakd  on  external  prindplea,  it  lalls  into  frivolity, 
and  perishes. 

THK  OBIOIN  OF  GOOD. 

76.  Ton  will  peneive  that  all  good  has  its  origin  in  good,  never 
in  evO;  that  the  fact  of  either  literature  or  painting  being  truly  fine 
of  their  kind,  whatever  their  inistaken  aim  or  partial  error,  is  proof 
of  their  noble  origin:  and  that,  if  there  is  indeed  sterling  value  in 
the  thing  done,  it  has  come  of  a  sterling  worth  in  the  soul  that  did 
it,  however  alloyed  or  defiled  by  conditions  of  sin  which  are  some- 
times more  appalling  or  more  strange  than  those  which  all  may  de- 
tect in  their  own  hMrta,  because  they  are  part  of  a  personality  alto- 
gether larger  than  oun,  and  as  far  beyond  oar  judgment  in  its  dads* 
nes9  as  beyond  our  following  m  its  h^t. 

PAKABLE  OF  "THB  LAST  SEVEN  DATS." 

83.  Supposing  it  were  told  any  of  you  by  a  physician  whose  worI 
you  could  not  but  trust,  that  you  had  not  more  than  seven  days  to 
live.  And  suppose  also  that,  by  the  manner  of  your  education  it 
happened  to  you,  as  it  has  happened  to  many,  never  to  have  heard 
of  any  future  state,  or  not  to  have  credited  what  you  heard;  and 
therefore  that  you  had  to  face  this  fact  of  the  approaim  of  death  in  its 
simplicity:  fearing  no  punishment  for  any  sin  that  you  mig^t  hav« 
before  committed,  or  in  the  coming  days  might  determine  to  commit; 
aad  having  similarly  no  hope_  of  reward  for  past,  or  yet  possibly 
virtue ;  nor  even  of  any  consciousness  whatever  to  be  left  to  you. 
after  the  seventh  day  had  ended,  either  of  the  results  of  your  acts  to 
those  whom  you  loved,  or  of  the  feelings  of  any  survivors  toward 
you.  Then  the  manner  in  which  you  would  spend  th*  Mvsn  dajs 
IS  an  exact  measuie  of  the  morality  of  your  nature. 

84.  I  know  that  some  of  you,  md  f  believe  the  grei^r  number 
of  you,  would,  in  such  a  cat  .  spend  the  granted  days  entirely  as  yaa 
ought.  Neither  in  numbering  the  errors,  or  deploring  the  pleas- 
ures of  the  past;  nor  in  graspmp;  it  vile  good  in  the  present,  nor 
vainly  lamenting  the  darkness  of  tl  e  future ;  but  in  instant  and  earn- 
est execution  of  whatever  it  might  be  possible  for  you  to  accomplish 
in  the  time,  in  setting  your  affairs  in  order,  and  in  providing  for  the 
future  comfort,  and — so  far  as  you  might  by  any  message  or  record 
of  yourself,  for  the  consolation — of  those  whom  you  loved,  and  by 
vhoni  yon  desired  to  be  remembered,  not  for  your  good,  but  for 
theirs.  How  far  you  might  fail  through  human  weakness,  in 
shame  for  the  past,  despair  at  the  little  that  could  in  the  remnant  of 
life  be  accomplished,  or  the  intolerable  pain  of  broken  affection, 
would  depend  wholly  on  the  degree  in  which  your  nature  had  been 
depressed  or  fortified  by  the  manner  of  your  past  life.  But  I  think 
there  are  few  of  you  wfio  would  not  spend  those  last  days  better  than 
all  that  had  precected  them. 


REUQ10V8  THOUGHT  IN  ART  tjs 

85.  If  you  look  aocarately  throng  the  records  of  the  lives  tiial 
have  been  most  useful  to  humanity,  you  will  find  that  all  that  has 
been  done  best,  has  been  done  so;  that  to  the  clearest  intellects  and 
highest  souls — to  the  true  children  of  the  Father,  with  whom  a  thou- 
sand years  are  as  one  day,  their  poor  seventy  years  are  but  as  seven 
days.  The  removal  of  the  shadow  of  death  from  them  to  an  uncer- 
tain,^ but  always  narrow  distance  never  takes  away  from  them  their 
intuition  of  it^  approach ;  the  extending  to  them  of  a  few  hoois 
more  or  less  of  fight  abates  not  their  acknowledsment  of  the  in- 
finitude that  must  remain  to  be  known  beyond  their  knowledge — 
done  beyond  their  deeds;  the  unprofitableness  of  their  momentary 
service  is  wrought  in  a  magnifieent  despair,  and  their  very  honor  is 
bequeathed  by  them  for  the  joy  of  others,  as  they  lie  down  to  their 
red,  regarding  for  themselves  the  voice  of  men  no  more. 

TRUE  JUSTICE  REWARDS  VIETUE — OPPOSES  VICE. 

89.  I  believe  it  to  be  quite  one  of  the  crowning  wickednesses  of 
this  age  that  we  have  starved  and  chilled  our  faculty  of  indignation, 
and  neither  desire  nor  darb  to  punish  crimes  justly.   W3  have  taken 
up  the  benevolent  idea,  forsooth,  that  justice  i<«  to  be  preventive  in^ 
stead  of  vindictive;  and  we  imagine  that  we  are  to  punish,  not  in 
anger,  but  in  expediencv;  not  mat  we  may  give  deservud  pain  to 
the  person  in  fault,  but  that  we  may  frighten  ouier  people  from  com- 
mitting the  same  fault.    The  beautiful  theory  of  this  non-vindictive 
justice  is,  that  having  convicted  a  man  of  a  crime  worthy  of  death, 
we  entirely  pardon  the  criminal,  restore  him  to  his  place  in  our  affec- 
tion and  esteem,  and  then  hang  him,  not  as  a  miuefactor,  but  as  a 
scarecrow.   That  is  the  theory.   And  the  practice  is,  that  we  send  a 
child  to  prison  for  a  month  for  stealing  a  handful  of  walnuts,  for  fear 
that  other  children  should  come  to  steal  more  of  our  walnuts.  And 
we  do  not  punish  a  swindler  for  mining  a  thousand  families,  because 
we  think  swindling  is  u  wholesome  excitement  to  trade. 
^  90.   But  all  true  justice  is  vindictive  to  vice  as  it  is  rewarding  to 
virtue.  Only — and  herein  it  is  distinguished  from  personal  revenge 
— it  is  vindictive  of  the  wrong  done,  not  of  the  wrong  done  to  im. 
It  is  the  national  expression  of  deliberate  anger,  as  of  deliberate  grati- 
tude; it  is  not  exemplary,  or  even  corrective,  but  essentially  retribu- 
tive; it  is  the  absolute  art  of  measured  recompense,  giving  honor 
where  honor  is  due,  and  shame  where  shame  is  due,  and  joy  where 
joy  is  due,  and  pain  where  pain  is  due.    It  is  neither  educational, 
for  men  are  to  be  educated  by  wholesome  habit,  not  by  rewards  and 
puniiihments ;  nor  is  it  preventive,  for  it  is  to  be  executed  without 
regard  to  any  consequences;  but  only  for  righteousness'  sake  a 
righteous  nation  does  judgment  and  justice.    But  in  this,  as  in  all 
other  instances,  the  rightness  of  the  secondary  passion  depends  on 
its  being  grafted  on  those  two  primary  instincts,  the  love  of  order 
and  of  nndness,  so  that  indignation  itauf  is  againrt  the  wounding  of 
love. 


174  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

INDIFFEBENCB  TO  BUMAN  SUVFEBINO — WHY? 

94.  Yoa  will  find  that  as  of  love,  m  of  all  the  ofher  psaslcni, 

the  right  government  and  exaltation  begins  in  that  of  the  imagina> 
tion,  which  is  lord  over  them.  For  to  subdue  the  passions^  which  is 
thought  so  often  to  be  the  sum  of  duty  respecting  them,  is  possible 
enough  to  a  proud  dullness;  but  to  excite  them  rightly,  and  maJce 
them  strong  for  good,  is  the  work  of  the  unselfish  imagination. 
It  is  constantly  said  that  human  nature  is  heartless.  Do  not  believe 
it.  Human  nature  is  kind  and  generous ;  but  it  is  narrow  and  blind ; 
and  can  only  with  difficulty  conceive  a*  thing  but  what  it  immedi* 
atelv  sees  and  feels.  People  would  ir  .  ly  care  for  others  as  well 
as  themselves  if  only  they  could  imaf,  others  as  well  as  themselves. 
Let  a  child  fall  into  the  river  before  e  roughest  man's  eyes;  he  will 
usually  do  what  he  can  to  get  it  out,  even  at  some  risk  to  himself; 
and  all  the  town  will  triumph  in  the  saving  of  one  little  life.  Let 
the  same  man  be  shown  that  hundieda  of  children  are  dying  of 
fever  for  want  of  some  nnitary  measoie  whidi  it  will  cost  nim 
^nrable  to  urge,  and  he  will  muce  no  effort;  and  pioT^My  all  the 
town  would  resist  him  if  he  did.  So,  also,  fhe  lives  of  ly  deserv- 
ing women  are  passed  in  a  succession  of  petty  anxieties  at>out  them- 
selves, and  gleaning  of  minute  interests  and  mean  pleasures  in  their 
immediate  circle,  because  they  ar^  never  taught  to  make  any  effort  to 
look  beyond  it;  or  to  know  anything  about  the  mighty  world  in 
which  tneir  lives  are  fading,  like  blades  of  bitter  sraaB  in  fruitless 
fields.— I«e«.  ///. 

ALL  THINGS  TO  HDC  THAT  ^EUSVK. 

125.  Every  seventh  day,  if  not  oftener,  the  greater  number  of 
well-meaning  persons  in  England  thankfully  receive  from  their 
teachers  a  benediction,  couched  in  these  terms :  "The  grace  of  our 
Lord  Christy  and  the  love  of  God,  and  tiie  fellowship  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  be  with  you."  Now  I  do  not  know  predaely  what  sense  is 
attached  in  the  English  public  mind  to  those  expressions.  But  what 
I  have  to  tell  you  positively  is,  that  the  three  tilings  do  actually  exist, 
and  can  be  known  if  you  care  to  know  them,  and  possessed  if  you 
care  to  possess  them ;  and  that  another  thing  exists,  beside  these,  of 
which  we  already  know  too  much. 

First,  by  simply  obeying  the  orders  of  the  founder  of  your  reli- 

S'on^  all  grace,  praciousness,  or  beauty  and  favor  of  gentle  life,  will 
I  pven  to  ^ou  in  mind  and  bodv,  in  work  and  in  rest.  The  grace 
of  Christ  exists,  and  can  be  had  if  you  will.  Secondly,  as  you  know 
more  and  more  of  the  created  world,  you  will  find  that  the  true  will 
of  its  Maker  is  that  its  creatures  should  be  happy — ^that  He  has  made 
everything  beautiful  in  its  time  and  its  place,  and  that  it  is  chiefly  by 
the  fault  of  men^  when  they  are  allowed  the  liberty  of  thwarting  His 
laws,  that  crration  groans  or  travails  in  pain.  The  love  of  God 
exists,  and  yoa  may  see  it,  and  live  in  it  if  you  will  Lastly,  a  spirit 


BEUOIOUS  THOVOHT  IN  ART  tn 

does  achjally  exist  which  teaches  the  ant  her  path,  the  bird  her  build- 
ug,  and  men,  in  an  instinctive  and  marvelous  way,  whatever  lovely 
•rta  and  noble  deeds  are  possible  to  them.  Without  it  you  can  do  no 
good  thing.  To  the  grief  of  it  you  can  do  many  bad  mm.  In  iha 
possession  of  it  is  your  peace  and  your  power. 

And  there  is  a  fourth  thing,  of  which  we  already  Icnow  too  much. 
There  is  an  evil  spirit  whose  dominion  is  in  blindness  and  in  coward- 
ice, as  the  dominum  of  the  nriiit  <tf  wudom  k  in  dear  aialit  and  in 
courage. 

And  this  blind  and  cowardly  spirit  is  forever  telling  you  that  evfl 
things  are  pardonable,  and  you  shall  not  die  for  them,  and  that  good 
things  are  impossible,  and  you  need  not  live  for  them:  and  that  eoa- 

?>1  of  his  M  now  the  loudest  that  is  preached  in  your  Saxon  tonSie. 
4W  V-  ™^  "ome  day,  to  your  cost,  if  you  believe  the  first  part  of  it, 
that  It  is  not  true;  but  you  may  never,  if  you  believe  the  second  part 
of  it,  find,  to  your  gain,  that  abo,  untrue;  and,  therefore,  I  pray  you 
with  all  earnestness  to  prove,  and  know  within  your  hearts,  tliat  all 
thmra  lovely  and  righteous  are  possible  for  those  who  believe  in  thair 
possibility,  and  who  determine  that,  for  their  part,  they  will  make 
every  day  s  work  contribute  to  them.  Le^  every  dawn  of  morning 
be  to  you  as  the  begmning  of  life,  and  evei  setting  sun  be  to  youS 
ito  cloae-^iMt  let  every  one  of  these  short  'es  leave  its  sure  record 
Of  some  kmdiy  thing  done  for  others— soaie  goodly  strength  or 
knowledge  gained  for  yourselves;  so,  from  day  to  day,  and  strength 
to  strength,  you  shall  build  up  indeed,  by  art,  by  thought,  and  by 
just  will,  an  ecclesia  of  England,  of  which  it  shaU  not  be  said,  "see 
what  manner  of  stones  are  heie,"  bat  "aee  what  suumar  of  mm.**  

TBTTI!  ABV  TMTllflJW  OF  GOD. 

190.  What  art  may  do  for  scholarship,  I  have  no  right  to  conieo. 
ture;  but  what  scholarship  may  do  for  art,  I  may  in  alfmodeB^  tell  ' 
vou.  Hitherto,  great  artists,  though  always  gentlemen,  have  yet 
been  too  exclusively  craftsmen.  Art  has  been  less  thourfitful  than 
we  suppose ;  it  has  taught  much,  but  much,  also,  falsely.  Many  of 
the  greatest  pictures  are  enigmas;  others,  beantifal  toys;  others, 
harmful  and  corrupting  toys.  In  the  loveliest  there  is  something 
weak ;  in  the  greatest  there  is  something  guilty.  And  this  is  the  new 
thing  that  may  come  to  pass— that  scholars  ma'"  resolve  to  teach  also 
with  the  silent  power  of  the  arts;  and  that  some  among  you  may  so 
learn  and  use  them,  that  pictures  may  be  painted  idd<£  shall  not  be 
enigmas  any  more,  but  open  teachings  of  what  can  no  otherwiw  ha 
80  rell  shown;  which  shall  not  be  fevered  or  brolcm  visions  any 
more,  but  shall  be  fiUed  with  the  indwelling  light  of  self-possessed 
imagination;  which  shall  not  be  stained  or  enfeebled  any  more  by 
evil  passion,  but  glorious  with  the  strength  and  chastity  of  nobte 
.    * '  ^^^^     ^of®  degrade  or  disguise  tl  *vork 

of  God  in  heaven,  but  testify  of  Him  as  here  dwelling  with  men,  and 
yaiKinR„with  them,  not  angry,  in  the  garden  of  tiw  earth.^ 


XII 


THE  EAGLE'S  NEST. 
Tkir  Lacmm  at  Oxraa>  UmvnsnT.  (1878.) 

The  8ubj«et  «t  tbb  whuM  k  *'Tb»  Rdittion  of  Natanl  Sdene* 

to  Art." 

Buskin  did  not  regard  it  aa  among  the  beit  written  of  his  works, 
Irat  it  was  the  choice  of  them  all  to  Carijk,  and  k  oertaiiily  tiioi>> 
oughly  characteristic  of  the  Author,  strildng  al  onet  at  tba  base  of 
what  he  conceives  to  be  popular  errors. 

Mr.  Harrison,  speaking  of  the  title,  says : — "It  was  so  named  in  the 
way  of  fancy,  in  that  it  contains  much  about  birds,  at  least  twelva 
difFerent  species  being  mentioned,  and  something  about  eagles.  .  .  . 
But,  aa  usual,  there  it  much  besides  the  primary  subject  in  this 
cmum  .  •  .  two  young  ladies  studying  astronomy,  forty 
tests  i^om  the  Bible,  the  dangers  of  studying  anatomy,  dftnoing  at 
the  theatre,  the  famine,  dweU^igs  f<nr  tha  woridng  daasa,  diawing 
from  the  nude,"  etc. 

The  lectures  are  spoken  in  more  learned  terms  than  those  given  to 
popular  audiences  but  they  are  not  the  less  pertin«rt  to  mm  and 
:womai  in  all  grades  of  life,  and  at  all  periods  of  time. 

xsow  TBYmv. 

22.  And,  above  all,  this  is  true  of  man ;  for  every  other  creature 
IS  compelled  by  its  instinct  to  learn  ita  own  appointed  lesson,  and 
must  centralize  its  perception  in  its  own  being.  But  man  has  the 
choice  of  stooping  in  science  beneath  himself,  and  striving  in  science 
beyond  himself  j  and  the  "Know  thyseU^  is,  for  him,  not  a  law  to 
which  he  must  m  peace  submit;  but  a  precept  which  of  all  others  is 
the  most  painful  to  undentand,  and  the  most  difficult  to  fulfill. 
Most  painful  to  understand,  and  humiliating;  and  this  alike, 
whether  it  be  held  to  refer  to  the  knowledge  beneath  us  or  above. 
For,  singularly  enough  men  ax*  ahrays  moat  oimoeited  of  Uia 
meanest  science : — 

"DoQk  tte  DmI*  kaow  whtt  la  te  tke  pM^ 
Or  Witt  Om  80  uk  the  Holer 

176 


BEUOJOVS  THOV0ET  IN  ART  tjt 

ll  k  jut  ihose  who  grope  with  the  mole  and  clini  «ilh  tha  bit 
«nio  an  vainest  of  their  sight  and  of  their  wings. 

28-  "Know  thy$elf."  hiit  can  it  indeed  be  sophia,— can  it  be  tht 
noble  wisdom,  which  thus  speaks  to  science?  la  not  thii  tLthtt, 
y°",'"H  "k' voice  o'  the  lower  virtue  of  prudenoa,  ooBMming 
itoelf  withnght  oonduct,  whether  for  the  inteneta  of  this  world  or  of 
the  futoMf  Doai  bot  wphia  regaid  all  chat  is  above  and  greater 
ttan  niui;  and  by  so  much  as  we  are  forbidden  to  bury  ourselves  in 
^^tllSkib^S^^  are  we  not  urgeS  to  r«,.  our. 

n  soviiouiiT  wcm  tbthlf. 

A      •  Tu"       °?*  ^  tliat  word  "independence." 

And,  in  the  sense  in  which  of  late  it  haa  been  accepted,  you  hav» 
never  heard  me  use  it  but  with  contempt.   For  the  taie  streneth  of 
every  human  soul  it  to  be  dependent  on  as  many  nobler  as  it  ean 
and  to  be  depended  upon,  hj  m  many  inferior  ee  U  can 


J?5 JSl? ^  ^  ^  • '^^o^y  «lifferent  sense.   I  think 

3i?^.?""AK®/®^*'  "*        amplification  I  was  able  to  give  you  of 
the  »dea<rf  Wisdom  as  an  unselfish  influence  in  Art  and  Science,  how 
J  skill  und  knowledge  were  founded  in  human  tenderness, 

and  that  the  kmdly  Art-wisdom  which  rejoices  in  the  habitable  parte 
of  the  earth,  is  only  another  form  of  the  lofty  Scientific  chimty, 
which  "rejoices  m  the  truth."  And  as  the  first  order  of  Wisdom  is  to 
know  th.7self— though  the  least  creature  that  ean  be  known— «o  the 
first  order  of  Cihanty  is  to  be  sufficient  for  thyself,  thoudi  the  least 
crmtme  that  ean  be  sofBoed;  and  thus  contented  and  appeased,  to  be 
sirded  and  strong  for  the  ministry  to  others.  If  sufficient  to  thy 
day  u  tibe  evil  thereof,  how  much  more  should  be  the  goodt--> 

SIMPLICITY  AND  CONTKXTMBNT. 

81.  My  endeavour,  will  be  to  point  out  to  you  how  in  the  best  wis- 
dom,  that  there  may  be  happy  advanoe,  there  must  first  be  happy 
contentment;  that,  m  one  sense,  we  most  always  be  entering  its 
kinBdom  as  a  Kttle  child,  and  pleased  yet  for  a  time  not  to  put  away 
<Aildidi  Oungs.  And  while  I  hitherto  have  endeavoured  only  to 
MOW  how  modesty  and  gentleness  of  disposition  purified  Art  and 
Science,  by  permitting  us  to  recognize  the  superiority  of  the  work  of 
others  to  our  own— todav,  on  the  contrary,  Iwishto  indicate  for  you 
the  uses  of  infantile  self-satisfaction ;  and  to  show  you  that  it  is  by  no 
error  or  excess  in  our  nature,  by  no  corruption  or  distortion  of  oar 
bemg,  that  we  are  disposed  to  take  delight  in  the  little  things  that  we 
Mn  do  ourselves,  more  than  in  the  great  things  done  by  other  people. 
So  only  that  we  nmpam  the  litOmess  and  the  greatness,  it  is  as 
aaoui  a  part  oi  true  lunpoaoee  to  be  {leased  witii  &e  Uttie  that  «• 


i7l  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

Immr,  and  Um  little  that  we  can  do,  aa  with  the  little  that  wo  have. 
On  the  CM  aide  Indolence,  on  the  other  Ooretouanesi,  an  ta  much 
to  be  Uaned,  with  respect  to  our  Arts,  as  our  possessions ;  and  every 
man  is  intended  to  find  an  exquisite  personal  happiness  in  his  own 
small  skill,  just  aa  he  is  intended  to  find  happiness  in  his  own  small 
house  or  garden,  while  he  respects,  without  coveting,  the  gruuieur  of 
Ittgw  donainft— £«ei.  V. 

OUBATXB  PLSABUn  IN  SMALL  THIKOB. 

81  Nay,  more  than  this:  by  the  wisdom  of  Nature,  it  has  been 
appointed  that  more  pleasure  may  be  taken  in  amall  th^ngy  than  in 
peat,  and  more  in  rude  Art  than  in  the  flneei  Wen  it  otherwise, 
we  might  be  disposed  to  complain  of  the  nanow  liniti  whidi  hwt 
been  set  to  the  perfection  of  human  skill. 

I  do  not  doubt  that  you  are  greatly  startled  at  my  sajring  that 

freater  pleasure  is  to  be  reoeiTed  from  inferior  Art  than  from  the 
nest.  But  what  do  you  auroose  makee  all  men  look  back  to  the 
time  of  childhood  with  so  much  regret,  (if  their  difldhood  has  been, 
in  any  moderate  degree,  healthy  or  peaceful)  ?  That  rich  charm, 
which  the  least  possession  had  for  us,  was  in  consequence  of  the  poor- 
ness of  our  treasures.  That  miraculous  aspect  of  the  nature  around 
us,  was  because  we  had  seen  little,  and  knew  less.  Every  increased 
possession  loads  us  with  a  new  weariness ;  every  piece  of  new  knowl* 
ed^e  diminishes  the  faculty  of  admiration  ;  and  Death  is  at  last  ap- 
pointed to  take  us  from  a  scene  in  which,  if  we  were  to  stay  longer, 
no  gift  oould  aatiify  us,  and  no  miracle  aqxpiiae. — Leet.  V. 

SPIRITTTAL  8I0HT. 

99.  A  ereat  physiologist  said  to  me  the  other  day— it  was  in  the 
rashness  of  controversy,  and  ought  not  to  be  rememb«red  as  a  de- 
liberate assertion,  therefore  I  do  not  give  his  name— still  he  did  say 
— ^that  sight  was  "altogether  mechanical."  The  words  simply 
meant,  if  they  meant  anything,  that  all  his  physiology  had  never 
taught  him  the  difference  between  eyes  and  telescopes.  Sight  is  an 
absolutely  spiritual  phenomenon;  accumtely,  and  only,  to  be  so  de> 
fined:  and  the  "Let  there  be  light,"  is  as  much,  when  you  under* 
stand  it,  the  ordering  of  intelligence,  as  the  ordering  of  vision.  It 
is  the  appointment  of  change  of  what  had  been  else  only  a  mechani- 
cal efihience  from  things  unseen  to  things  unseeing, — from  stars 
that  did  not  shine  to  earth  that  could  not  perceive; — the  change,  I 
say,  of  that  blind  vibration  into  the  glory  of  the  sun  and  moon  for 
human  eyes;  so  rendering  possible  fdso  the  communication  out  of 
the  unfatbomable  truth,  of  that  portion  of  truth  which  is  good  for 
vat,  and  animating  to  us,  and  is  set  to  rule  ow  the  di^  and  ni|^t 
our  joy  and  aorrow. — LeeL  VI.  .  . 


RELiaiOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  179 

121.  How  much  need,  therefo  e,  that  we  should  kan  fir  t  of  all 
what  eyes  are;  and  what  vision  they  ouaht  to  posMea— science  of 
eight  granted  only  to  clearness  of  soul;  but  granted  in  iu  fulness 
even  t'.  niortal  eyes:  for  though,  after  the  skin,  worms  may  destnw 
their  body,  happy  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they,  yet  in  their  fl«h,  BhdD 
see  the  Light  of  Heaven,  and  kuow  the  will  of  Qod.—Lwt.  VI. 

PRAYINQ  rOB  UOBT. 

116.   On  any  morning  of  the  year,  how  many  pious  supplications. 
»?         '■"iPf^'  are  uttered  throughout  educated  Europe  fo- 
Ugmr     How  many  hps  at  least  pronounce  the  word,  and,  perbai 
in  the  plurality  of  instances,  with  some  distinct  idea  attached  tt. 
It  13  true  the  speakers  employ  it  only  as  a  metaphor.    But  why 
their  language  thus  metaphorical?    If  they  mean  merely  to  ask  for 
spiritual  knowledge  or  guidance,  why  not  say  so  plainly  instead  of 
using  this  jadf.i  t;gure  of  sneech?   %  bov  aoes  to  his  father  when 
"lisSt"  ^  '»tf>er  to  givo  him 

&  asks  what  he  wants,  advice  or  protection.  Why  are  not  we 
also  content  to  ask  our  Father  for  what  we  want,  in  plain  English? 

ihe  metaphor,  you  will  answer,  is  put  into  our  mouths,  and  felt 
to  be  a  beautiful  and  necessary  one. 

I  admit  it.  In  your  educational  series,  firet  of  all  examples  of 
modem  art,  is  the  best  engraving  I  could  find  of  the  picture  which, 
founded  on  that  idea  of  Chnst's  being  the  Giver  of  Light,  contains 
1  MUeve,  the  most  true  and  tisefal  piece  of  religious  vision  which 
realistic  art  has  yet  embodied.  But  why  is  the  metaphor  so  neces- 
sary, or,  rather,  how  far  is  it  a  metaphor  at  al'     Do  you  think  the 

w-5^9'^^'^wl,''^  e  •"'^^r  t'"^'J"  ""^y  "Te^  r  or  Guide  of  the 
W  orld?  When  the  Sun  of  Justice  is  ^nid  to  )  with  health  in  its 
wings,  do  you  suppose  the  image  only  n.oar?  tho  correction  of  error? 
Or  does  It  even  mean  so  much?  The  Light  of  Heaven  is  needed  to 
do  that  perfectly.   But  what  we  are  t:>  ->Tay  for  is  the  Light  of  the 

Kwiw^^'      ^*       '  ********  '"''^        *****  '* 

116.  You  wiU  find  that  it  is  no  metaphoi^nor  has  it  ever 

D66n  60. 

To  t^e  PeraiMi,  the  Girok,  and  the  Christian,  the  sense  of  the 
powwr  of  the  God  of  I^ght,  has  been  one  and  the  same.  That  power 
is  not  merely  m  tMching  or  protecting,  but  in  the  enforcement  of 
punty  of  body,  and  of  equity  or  justice  in  the  heart;  and  this,  ob- 
serve not  heavenly  purity,  nor  final  justice;  but,  now,  and  here, 
actual  punty  m  the  midst  of  the  world's  foulness,— practical  justice 
in  the  midst  of  the  world's  iniquity.  And  the  phvncal  strength  of 
the  organ  of  sight,— the  physical  purity  of  the  flesh,  the  actual  love 
of  sweet  light  and  stunless  colour, — axe  the  n^atmay  signs,  xeal^ 


tSo  THE  RELiaiON  OF  RVBKm 

inevitable,  and  visible,  of  the  pTevailing  preBenoe,  with  any  nation, 
or  in  any  house,  of  the  "Light  that  lightath  mvf  man  that  oonMtlk 
into  the  world."— Lect.  VL 

T7IK  OUABDUNSHIP  OF  LOVX. 

169.  All  of  you  who  have  ever  read  your  Gospels  carefully  must 
have  wondered,  sometimes,  what  oould  be  the  meaning  of  those 
words, — "If  any  speak  agamst  the  Son  of  Man  it  shall  be  foimven; 
but  if  against  the  Holy  Spirit,  it  shall  not  be  fagiven*  ndtner  ia 
this  wond  nor  in  the  next"  ^        . .  .  »  j  »_ 

The  passage  may  have  many  meanings  which  I  do  nok  know; 
but  one  meaning  I  know  positively,  and  Itell  you  so  just  as  frankfy 
as  I  would  that  I  knew  the  meaning  of  a  verse  m  Homer. 

Those  of  you  who  still  go  to  chapel  say  every  day  your  creed;  and, 
I  suppose,  too  often,  less  and  less  every  day  believing  it.  Now,  you 
may  cease  to  believe  two  articles  of  it,  and, — ^admittmg  Christianity 
to  be  true,— still  be  fomven.  Bat  I  oan  tell  your— you  must  not 
cease  to  believe  the  third!  ...     ti  i. 

You  begin  by  saying  that  you  believe  in  an  Almighty  Father. 
Well,  you  may  entirely  lose  the  sense  of  that  Fatherhood,  and  yet 
be  forgiven. 

You  go  on  to  say  that  you  believe  in  a  Saviour  Son.  You  may  en- 
tirely lose  the  sense  of  that  Sonship,  and  yet  be  forgiirsn. 

But  the  third  article— disbelieve  if  you  dare  I 

••I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  The  Lord  and  Oiver  of  Life." 

Disbelieve  that  I  and  your  own  being  is  degraded  into  the  state  of 
dust  driven  by  the  wind ;  and  the  elements  of  dissolution  have  en- 
tered your  very  heart  and  soul. 

All  Nature,  with  one  voice— with  one  glory,  is  set  to  teach  you 
reverence  for  the  life  communicated  to  you  from  the  Father  of 
opihts.  The  song  of  birds,  and  their  plumage;  tiie  scent  of  flowers, 
their  colour,  their  very  existence,  are  in  direct  connection  with  the 
mystery  of  that  communicated  life:  and  all  the  strength,  and  all  the 
arts  of  men,  are  measured  by,  and  founded  upon,  their  reverence  for 
the  passion,  Kod  thdz  guardianship  of  the  ponty,  of  Love. — Lect. 
VIII. 

UVINQ  IN  HONOB — THK  BECBET  OP  POWBB. 

171.  My  fHends,  let  me  very  strongly  recommend  you  to  give  up 
that  hope  of  finding  the  principle  of  life  in  dead  bo^e^  but  to  take 
all  pains  to  keep  the  life  pure  and  holy  in  the  living  bodies  you  have 
got;  and,  farther,  not  to  seek  your  national  amusement  in  the 
destruction  of  animals,  nor  your  national  safety  in  the  destruction  of 
men ;  but  to  look  for  all  your  joy  to  kindness,  and  for  all  your 
strength  to  domestic  faith,  and  law  of  ancestral  honour.  Perhaps 
you  will  not  now  any  more  think  it  strange  that  in  beginning  vour 
natural  hiatorv  studies  in  Uiis  pUwe,  I  mean  to  teach  you  heraldry* 


RELIOIOUS  THOUOHT  IN  ART  ,s, 

bnt  not  anatomy    For,  as  you  leam  to  read  the  flhields,  and  nam. 
ber  the  Btones  of  the  great  houses  of  England,  and  fin^  hoirSS 
arts  that  glorified  them  were  founded  on  the 
vou  will  learn  assuredly  that  the  utmost  went  SfSS^,wTK 
W  with  honour,  ana  the  ntmort  mentB  of  Iiiiii»n  art  £»  £ 


JiTing  witb  Honour,  and  the  utmort  iMNti  of  Immaii  art  m  in  m. 
Hkotm  and  truth.— VIII.  mmwii  art  are  in  gm. 

DABWINI8M. 

185.  Respecting  the  origin  of  these  variously  awkward  imn^r. 
fectly  or  grotesquely  developed  phases  of  fojTsld^^^oT^ 
not  at  i)resent  inquire:  in  all  pro&bility  the  race  of  JZil'appoiSted 
to  hve  m  wonder,  and  in  acknowledgment  of  ignorance,- butTfeJS 
he  18  to  know  any  of  the  secrets  of  his  own  or  of  brutal  exStenc^  it 
will  surelv  be  thronah  .i;«r.JT,u««  «r   x  tt"     ,  exisience,  it 


the  present  state  VSJrkno;d^7b^^^^^^  h^T^t  S 

'i^iL^T  T''  5'"^ iTeaTar^meK  TfaJJu? 
SJinrf^Jl^rt  '^^  many  that  were  beneath  contempt 
For  instance,  by  the  time  you  have  copied  one  or  two  of  your«S^ 

Z!t™.Sf  A  I  °^  ^^T?'  y''"  ^  interested  in  t£ 
construction  and  disposition  of  plume-filaments  than  hereto^ -aSd 
you  may  i^rhaps  refer  in  hope  of  help,  to  Mr.  Darwin"  wwijrf 
the  peacock's  feather.  I  went  to  it  m^lf,  hopina  to  leam3?e  S 
the  existing  laws  of  life  which  i^late  th^  loSl^d^Sn  oTthJ 

w^^at  peacocks  hinre  ^own  to  be  peacocks  out  of  brown  pheSSS 
because  the  young  feminine  brown  pheasants  like  fine  feathS 
XfwHi'"^  ?  myself  "Then  either  there  was  a  diShi<ilS 
of  brown  pheasants  originally  bom  with  a  taste  for  fine  feathsM- 
and  therefore  with  remarkable  eyes  in  their  hea^-which  w?uld  bil 
a  much  more  wonderful  distinction  of  species^  S  b?m  wiS 
remarkable  eyes  in  their  tails,_or  else  allpheasants  would  W  Ken 

KS^''tiX!-l^ci.    '  "^'^  - 

BLESSED  ARE  PEACEMAKERS. 

Wn?^**  you  ever  thought  seriously  of  the  meaning  of  that 

wiu  be  wady-made.  Whatever  making  of  peace  thev  can  be  bleat 
i^'^^'^  *®  "^^^  ^^"^  the  taki^  of  arms  agaiSt  but 
h.,,lding  of  n^te  amidst,  ite  "sea  of  troubll."  Sfficilt  ewi 
you  think?  Perhaps  so,  but  I  do  not  see  that  any^S  tnr  ^ 
complain  of  the  want  of  many  thingB-wSwimt  votM  ^*  »«n! 
liberty,  we  want  amusement,  yi  Iwrt^S^.  WhSf^f  ^  7ih 
or  knows,  that  he  wanti  peaoer 


tSs  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

205.  There  are  two  ways  of  getting  it,  if  you  do  want  it.  The 
first  is  wholly  in  your  own  power;  to  make  yourselves  nests  of  pleas- 
ant thoughts.  Those  are  nests  on  the  sea  indeed,  but  safe  beyond  all 
others;  only  they  need  much  art  in  the  building.   None  of  us  yet 

know,  for  none  of  us  have  yet  been  taught  in  early  yoiith,  what  fairy 
palaces  we  may  build  of  beautiful  thought — proof  against  all  adver- 
sity. Bright  fancies,  satisfied  memories,  noble  histories,  faithful 
sayings,  treasure-houses  of  precious  and  restful  thoughts,  which  care 
cannot  disturb,  nor  pain  make  gloomy,  nor  poverty  take  away  from 
us — houses  built  without  hands,  for  our  souls  to  live  in. — Led.  IX. 

DUTY  OF  SCIENCE  AND  ABT. 

206.  Science  does  its  duty,  not  in  telling  us  the  causes  of  spots  in 

the  sun ;  but  in  explaining  to  us  the  laws  of  our  own  life,  and  the 
consequences  of  their  violation.  Art  does  its  duty,  not  in  filling 
monster  galleries  with  frivolous,  or  dreadful,  or  indecent  pictures; 
but  in  completing  the  comforts  and  refining  the  pleasures  of  daily 
occurrence,  and  familiar  service:  and  literature  does  its  duty,  not  in 
wasting  our  hours  in  political  discussion,  or  in  idle  fiction;  but  in 
raising  our  fancy  to  the  height  of  what  may  be  noble,  honest,  and 
felicitous  in  actual  life: — in  giving  us,  though  we  may  ourselves  be 
poor  and  unknown,  the  companionship  of  the  wisest  fellow-spirits  of 
every  age  and  country, — and  in  aiding  the  communication  of  clear 
thoughts  and  faithful  purposes,  among  distant  nations,  which  will 
at  last  breathe  calm  upon  the  sea  of  lawless  passion,  and  change  into 
such  halcyon  days  the  winter  of  the  world,  that  the  birds  of  the  air 
may  have  their  nests  in  peace,  and  the  Son  of  Man,  where  to  lay  his 
head. — Leet.  IX. 

COMPETE  FOR  THE  FUTtJBB. 

212.  I  want  you  to  compete,  not  for  the  praise  of  what  you  know, 
but  for  the  praise  of  what  you  become ;  and  to  compete  only  in  that 
great  school,  wheve  death  is  the  examiner,  and  God  the  judge.  For 
vou  will  find,  if  you  look  into  your  own  hearts,  that  the  two  great 
delights,  in  loving  and  praising,  and  the  two  great  thirsts,  to  be  loved 
and  praised,  are  the  roots  of  all  that  is  strong  in  the  deeds  of  men, 
and  happy  in  their  lepoee. — Leet.  X. 

UFB — ^rrS  OMOIK  NOT  IN  TBX  DUST. 

240.  I  warned  you  in  my  former  lecture  against  the  base  curi- 
osity of  seeking  for  the  origin  of  life  in  the  dust ;  in  earth  instead 
of  heaven:  how  much  more  must  I  warn  you  against  forgetting  the 
true  origin  of  the  life  that  is  in  your  own  souls,  of  that  good  which 
you  have  heard  with  your  ears,  and  your  fathers  have  told  you. 
You  buy  the  picture  of  the  Virgin  as  furniture  for  your  rooms;  but 
you  despise  the  religion,  and  you  reject  ihe  memory,  of  th(»e  who 


RELIGIOUS  THOVOHT  IN  ART  183 

have  taught  you  to  love  the  aspect  of  whatsoever  things  and  creatures 
are  good  and  pure:  and  too  many  of  you,  entering  into  life,  are 
ready  to  thinl^,  to  feel,  to  act,  as  the  men  bid  you  who  are  incapable 
of  worship,  as  they  are  of  creation ; — whose  power  is  only  in  destruc- 
tion; whose  gladness  only  in  disdain;  whose  glorying  is  in  their 
shame.  You  know  well.  1  should  think,  by  this  time,  QuA  I  am  not 
one  to  seek  to  conceal  from  you  any  truth  of  nature,  or  supersti- 

tiously  decorate  for  vou  any  form  of  faith;  but  I  trust  deeply  

(and  I  will  strive,  for  my  poor  part,  wholly,  so  to  help  you  in 
steadfastness  of  heart)— that  you,  the  children  of  the  Christian 
chivalry  ....  may  not  stoop  to  become  as  these,  whose  thou^ts 
are  but  to  invent  new  foulness  with  which  to  blaspheme  the  story  of 
Christ,  and  to  destroy  the  noble  works  and  laws  that  have  been 
founded  in  His  name. 

Will  you  not  rather  go  around  about  this  England,  and  tell  the 
towers  thereof,  and  mark  well  her  bulwarks,  and  consider  her 
palaces,  Uiat  you  may  tell  it  to  the  generation  following?  Will  you 
not  rather  honour  with  all  your  strength,  with  all  your  obedience, 
mth  all  your  holy  love  and  never-ending  worship,  the  princely  sires, 
and  pure  maids,  and  nursing  mothers,  who  have  bequeathed  and 
blest  your  life?— that  so,  for  you  also,  and  for  your  children,  the 
days  of  strength,  and  the  light  of  memory,  may  be  long  in  thn 
lovely  land  which  the  Lord  your  God  has  given  you.— £ee(.  X. 


XIII 


ABIADNE  FLORENTDT A. 

Six  laoTumn  ov  Woot  ahs  Mkaxi  "EKomkytm. 
(1872.) 

Thew  ketoTCB  wliidi,  with  an  appendix,  form  a  Tolnme  of  160 

pages,  were  delivered  at  the  University  of  Oxford.  They  are  techoi> 
cal  in  their  treatment  and  do  not  offer  much  to  our  method  of  aeko- 
tion.  Yet,  even  here,  devoted  as  these  leetoxes  arc  to  the  technique 
of  the  Art  of  Engraving,  Ruskin  finds  his  highest  ideals  in  religious 
truth.  They  treat  of  the  following  subjects,  and  are  illustrated  with 
many  specimens  of  the  art: — 

1.  Definition  of  the  Art  of  Engraving. 

2.  The  relation  of  Engraving  to  other  arli. 
8.   The  kchnics  of  Wood  Engraving. 

4.   The  technics  of  Metal  Engraving. 
6.   German  S^'bools  of  Engraving. 
6.   Florentine  Schools  of  Engraving. 

The  lectures  are  fine  examples  of  Ruskin's  rare  powers  as  a  close 
observer  and  a  critic  of  all  that  constitute  artistic  worth.  All  the 
treasures  of  art  are  unfolded  to  his  mind,  as  the  flowen  of  Italy  at 
the  feet  of  the  goddess  Flora. 

The  Art  of  Engraving,  which  to  the  uninitiated  appears  as  a 
product  of  deftness  and  skill  of  the  hand,  becomes  a  world  of  beauty 
and  truth.  History  and  Poetry,  and  above  all  the  Scriptures,  fur- 
nish abundant  illustration  of  his  themes,  or  are  themselves  ez« 
pounded,  as  he  tells  the  stoiy  of  the  schools  of  the  Engraven'  onfk. 


XIV 

THE  LAWS  OF  PESOLB. 

Ten  CHAPms.  (1877^.) 

In  his  preface  to  this  volume  the  .'luthor  aa^:— "This  book  u 

^I^Ih'T  f  °'  IT"^  «^  P^ble 

Omstian  Art  is  founded  on  the  principles  established  h  CVittd  in 

Korence  he  receiving  th  ^  from  the  Attic  Greeks  through  Cimbue. 

^e  last  of  their  disciples  and  grafting  them  on  the  existing  art  of 

the  Etmscani,  the  wee  from  which  both  hi.  master  and  he  were 

descended.  .  And  the  purpose  of  this  book  is  to  teach 

the  elements  of  these  Christian  hiws,  as  distinguished  from  the  infidel 

laws  of  the  spuriously  daasio  aduwl.*' 

The  book  with  its  twelve  plates,  illustrating  right  lines,  curva, 
shields,  pluma^,  groups  of  circles,  kndscape  outline,  lighte  and 
-h.de,  etc  ought  to  be  pabliehed  sepanOely  for  use  of  schools 
classes.  Every  young  student  of  etementary  art  ihoald  be  enooaiw 
aged,  if  not  required,  to  study  it 

Diiwted,  a>  H  k,  ezdarively  to  them  atadiee,  it  doe>  not  offer  much 
loom  for  treatment  of  moral  principles,  nevertheless  it  is  true  to 
them,  as  we  may  see  in  the  followiig: 

BIBOS'  NESTS  BBTTBB  THAN  P:cTUEE8  OF  BIRDS'  NBBTS. 

6.   Fix  this  in  your  mind  as  the  jpiidina  trinciple  of  aU  riehf 
I'^u'f  i^if '       '^"r*     ill  heafl:rfulM  ener^,_that 
urt  13  to  be  the  praise  of  something  you  love.   It  miy  be  onlv  the 

S« Of* IIa^'-  i?K ^  ^  living  creature  is  determined  I 
the  height  and  breadth  of  your  love,  but,T)e  you  small  or  •  Teat,  wh 
healthy  art  is  possible  to  you  must  be  the  expression  of  you^  true 
delight  in  a  real  thing  better  than  the  art.  Vou  may  tUnk.  vS> 
haps,  tut  a  bird's  nest  by  William  Hunt  is  better  thm  •  reaft&S 
nest..  We  indeed  pay  a  large  sum  for  the  one,  and  scarcely  lo^k  for. 
or  save,  Je  other   6ut  it  would  be  better  for  us  that  aU  pictureeS 

«odd  penihed,  than  that  the  biidi  ibonU  oaaM  to  Imiid 
€h.2, 

lis 


j«6  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

APHORISMS. 

1.  The  greatest  art  represents  every  thing  with  abscilutc  sincef 
ity,  afl  far  as  it  is  able.  But  it  chooses  the  best  things  to  reprp^enk 
and  it  places  them  in  the  best  order  in  which  they  can  be  seen. 
You  can  only  judge  of  what  is  beat,  in  process  of  time,  by  the  betteiw 
me  of  your  own  character.  What  is  true,  you  can  learn  now,  if  you 
will. 

If  the  picture  is  beautiful,  copj'  it  as  it  is;  if  ugly,  let  it 
alone.   Only  Heaven,  and  Death,  know  what  it  was. —  Ch.  8. 

BEAUTY  IN  NATURAL  THINGS. 

16.  The  final  definition  of  Beauty  is,  the  power  in  any  thing  of 
delighting  an  intelligent  soul  by  its  appearance— power  given  to  it 
by  the  Maker  of  Souls.  The  perfect  beauty  of  Man  is  summed  up 
in  the  Arabian  exclamation,  "Praise  be  to  Him  who  created  thee!*' 
and  the  perfect  beauty  of  all  natural  things  sommed  in  the  i^Jioel's 
promise,  "Good  will  towards  men."— <7fc.  7. 

ELEMENTS  OF  HUMAN  AST. 

40.  Counting  less  than  most  men,  what  future  days  may  bring 
or  deny  me,  I  am  thankful  to  be  permitted,  .  .  .  with  all  the 
force  of  which  my  mind  is  capable,  the  lesson  I  have  endeavored 
to  teach  through  my  past  life,  that  this  fair  tree  Igdrasil  of  Human 
Art  can  only  flourish  when  its  dew  is  aflFection,  its  air  devotion,  the 
rock  of  its  roots,  Patimce,  and  its  sunshine,  God.— ^{o«^  vmds 
of  Ch.  10, 


XV 


ARROWS  OF  THE  CHACB. 
Two  VoM.  Vol.  I.  (1880.) 

These  two  volumes,  Ruakin  tells  us,  consists  of  a  "series  of  letters 
ranging  broadly  over  forty  years  of  my  life."  In  the  year  1889  they 
were  edited  by  an  Oxford  friend  and  a  list  of  the  letters  will  be  found 
in  any  good  edition  of  Ruskin's  Worics,  with  the  date  and  occasion 
of  their  first  publication.  They  embrace  a  very  wide  range  of  sub- 
jects which  are  arranged  under  two  general  heads,  Volume  I  h^  ng 
"Letters  on  Art  and  Science;"  Volume  2,  "Letters  on  Politics,  Econo- 
my and  Miscellaneous  Matters." 

"Since  the  letters  cost  me  much  trouble,  since  they  interrupted  me 
in  pleasant  work  which  was  usually  liable  to  take  harm  by  interrup- 
tion, and  since  they  were  likely  almost,  in  the  degree  of  thdr  force, 
to  be  refused  by  the  editoid  of  adverse  journals,  I  never  was  tempted 
into  writing  a  word  for  the  puolic  press,  unless  concerning  matters 
which  I  had  much  at  heart  And  Gxe  issue  is,  therefore,  that  the 
two  following  volumes  contain  very  nearly  the  indices  of  everything 
I  have  deeply  cared  for  during  the  last  forty  years.  ,  .  . 
Whether  I  am  spared  to  put  into  act  anything  here  designed  for  my 
country's  help,  or  am  shielded  by  death  from  the  sight  of  her 
remediless  sorrow,  I  have  already  done  for  her  as  much  service  as  she 
has  will  to  receive,  by  ]a]ring  before  her  facts  vital  to  her  existence, 
and  unalterable  by  her  power,  in  words  of  wh'ch  not  one  has  been 
warped  by  interest  nor  weakened  by  fear;  aud  which  are  as  pure 
from  selfish  passion  as  if  they  wen  spokrai  abeady  firom  another 
world." 

'ihese  words  from  the  "Author's  Preface,"  written  when  he  was 
past  sixty,  are  characteristic  of  Ruskin.  They  reveal  the  intense 
realty  of  all  his  battles  for  righteousness,  and  they  also  show  that 
what  he  has  said  in  these  letters  are  the  expression  of  profound  con- 
viction and  long  experinioe. 

In  the  very  nature  of  them  there  is  not  much  that  can  be  selected 
for  the  purpose  of  this  volume.   Thn  reader  will  notice  thai  the  set 


i»8  TBE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

oi  subjects  contained  in  the  first  volum*  bdong  to  this  boob.  hU!* 
the  second  volume  wiU  be  rafemd  to  in  Book  \^ 

Only  one  selection  is  given  here  and  this  requires  the  explanation 
that  It  IS  a  description  of  Hohnan  Hunt's  famow  niotiin  "Thm 
Light  of  the  World."  ^ 

The  Author  of  this  volume  remembers  well  the  profound  impree- 
sion  made  upon  his  mind  on  viewing  Hunt's  great  work  but  it  is  a 
question  whether  Soakin'i  interpretation  of  it  is  not  greater  even 
than  the  picture. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  WOBLD. 

The  legend  beneath  it  is  the  beantifol  verse,  "Behold  I  stand  at 
the  door  and  knock.  If  any  man  hear  my  voice,  and  open  the  door. 
1  will  come  mtp  him,  and  will  sup  with  him,  and  he  with  me."— 
itev  nt:  go.  On  the  left-hand  side  of  the  pictures  is  seen  this  door 
of  the  human  soul.  It  is  fast  barred ;  its  bars  and  nails  are  rusty :  it 
13  knitted  and  bound  to  its  stanchions  by  creeping  tendrils  of  ivy. 
flbowing  that  it  has  never  been  opened.  A  bat  hovera  about  it;  its 
threshold  is  overerown  with  brambles,  nettles,  and  fruitlen  com— 
the  wild  grass  "whereof  the  mower  filleth  not  his  hand,  nor  he  that 
bindeth  the  sheaves  his  bosom."  Christ  approaches  it  in  the  night- 
tone— Chrnt,  in  his  everlasting  offices  of  prophet,  priest,  and  kmg. 
Jtte  wws  the  white  robe,  representing  the  power  of  the  Spirit  upon 
him;  the  jewelled  robe  and  breast-plate,  representing  the  sacerdotal 
investiture;  the  rayed  crown  of  gold,  interwoven  wiSi  the  crown  of 
thorns ;  not  dead  thorns,  but  now  bearing  soft  leaves,  for  the  1m»«««> 
of  the  nations.  ** 


teruj  earned  in  Christ's  left  baud,  is  this  light  of  conscience.  Its 
fire  IS  red  and  Her,:;  it  falls  only  on  the  closed  door,  on  the  weeds 
which  encumber  it,  and  on  an  apple  shaken  from  one  of  the  trees  of 
the  orchard,  thus  marking  that  the  entire  awakening  of  the  con- 
science IS  not  merely  to  committed,  but  to  hereditary  guilt. 

The  light  is  suspended  by  a  chain,  wrapt  about  the  wrist  of  the 
figure,  showing  that  the  light  which  reveals  sin  appeam  to  the  sinner 
also  to  chain  the  hand  of  Christ 

The  light  which  proceeds  from  the  head  of  the  figure,  on  the  con- 
teary,  is  that  of  the  hope  of  salvation,  it  springs  from  the  crown  of 
thorns,  and,  though  itself  sad,  subdued,  and  full  of  softness,  is  yet  so 
powerful  that  it  entirely  melts  into  the  glow  of  the  forms  of  the 
leaves  and  boughs,  which  it  crosses,  showing  that  every  earthly 
object  must  be  hidden  by  this  light,  where  its  sphere  extends. 

I  heheve  there  are  few  persons  on  whom  the  picture  thus  justly 
understood,  will  not  produce  a  deep  impression.  For  my  own  part, 
I  tlunk  It  one  of  the  very  noblest  works  of  sacred  art  ever  modnoea 
in  this  (»  any  othy  age.— Letter,  May  6,  ISSi. 


XVI 


a 


THE  ABT  OF  ENGLAND. 
Sn  LioTinaM  ja  OztoBD.  (1888.) 

These  lectures  were  ddivMvd  Mm  tbe  UnivmHjr  of  Oxford  wlmi 

Ruakin  was  sixty-four  years  of  age.  The  subject  treated,  and  the 
manner  of  treatment  suggest  that  it  ia  practically  a  continuation  of 
''Modem  Painters."  The  wfok  abonnds  in  terse  and  eritica!  sen- 
tences  and  although  it  is  all  contained  in  about  130  pages,  including 
an  appendix  and  index,  it  is  one  of  the  most  instructive  and  compre- 
liensiTe  studies  of  all  his  wraka.  Taken  as  a  whole  it  is  a  strong 
d^ence  of  Morals  and  Religion  against  the  tendency  of  the  errors  of 
edentific  men  of  that  time.  In  it  the  Scriptures  are  copiously 
quoted.  Thaologieal,  m  ireU  as  Art  Students  should  maks  a  study 
of  this  wotk. 

THX  MYSTSBT  OF  SACBIFICE. 

The  great  mystery  of  the  idea  of  Sacrifice  itself,  which  has  been 
manifested  as  one  united  and  solemn  instinct  by  all  thoughtful  and 
affectionate  races,  since  the  wide  world  became  peopled,  is  founded 
on  the  secret  truth  of  benevolent  energy  which  aU  men  who  have 
tried  to  gun  it  have  learned — that  you  cannot  save  men  from  death 
but  by  laeii^  it  tor  them  nor  from  sin  but  bv  resisting  it  for  them. 
It  u,  an  the  eontrary,  the  favourite,  and  uie  worst  falsehood  of 
modern  infldd  morality,  that  you  serve  your  fellow-creatures  beat 
by  getting  a  percentage  out  of  their  pockets,  and  will  best  provide 
for  starving  n^ultitudes  by  regaling  yourselves.  Some  day  or  other 
—probably  now  very  soon — too  probably  by  heavy  afiBictions  of  the 
State,  we  shall  be  tau^t  that  it  la  not  ?o;  and  that  all  the  true  good 
and  glory  even  of  thia  world — ^not  to  speak  of  any  that  ia  to  come, 
muat  be  oouslit  still,  as  it  always  has  been,  with  our  toil,  uid  with 
cur  tears.  That  is  the  final  doctrine,  the  inevitable  one,  not  of 
Chriatianity  only,  but  of  all  Heroic  Faith  and  Heroic  Being;  and 
the  first  trial  questions  of  a  true  soul  to  itself  must  always  be,— 
Have  I  a  religioo,  have  I  a  eoontiy,  hava  I  a  love,  that  I  am  xea^ 
to  die  for? 

That  is  the  Doctrine  of  Sacrifice;  the  faith  in  which  Isaac  was 
bound,  in  which  Iphiflenia  died,  in  which  the  great  army  of  mar> 
tyn  have  sofifeied,  and  Iqr  whidi  all  vwtories  in  the  cause  of  jtutioa 

«»9 


190  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

and  happiness  have  been  gained  by  the  men  who  became  mow  than 
conquerors,  through  Him  that  loved  them. 

And  yet  there  is  a  deeper  and  stranger  sacrifice  in  the  ayitem  of 
this  creation  than  theirs.  To  resolute  self-denial,  and  to  adopted 
and  accepted  suffering,  the  reward  is  in  the  conscience  sure,  and  in 
the  gradual  advance  and  predominance  of  good,  practically  and  to 

all  men  visible.    But  what  shall  we  say  of  involuntary  suffering  

the  misery  of  the  poor  and  the  simple,  the  agonv  of  the  helpless 
and  the  innocent,  and  the  perishing,  as  it  seems,  "in  vain,  and  the 
mother  weepmg  for  the  children  of  whom  she  knows  only  that  ther 
are  not?— Leef.  /.  '  ' 

PAIN  A8  A  80URCK  Of  PLSA8TJRK. 

I  saw  it  lately  given  as  one  of  the  incontrovertible  discoveries  of 
modem  science,  that  all  our  present  enjoyments  were  only  the  out- 
come of  an  infinite  series  of  pain.  I  do  not  know  how  far  the  state- 
ment  fairlv  represented— but  it  announced  as  incapi^le  of  contra- 
diction—thu  melancholy  theory.  If  sach  a  doctrine  is  indeed 
abroad  among  you,  let  me  comfort  some,  at  least,  with  its  absolute 
denial.  That  m  past  seons,  the  pain  suffered  throughout  the  living 
universe  passes  calculation,  is  true;  that  it  is  infinite,  is  untrue;  and 
that  all  our  enjoyments  are  based  on  it,  contemptibly  untrue.  For, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  pleasure  felt  through  the  living  universe  dur- 
ing piiPt  ages  in  incalculable  also,  and  in  higher  magnitudes.  Our 
own  talents,  enjoyments,  and  prosperities,  are  the  outcome  of  that 
happiness  with  its  energies,  not  of  the  death  Uiat  ended  them.  So 
manif^tly  is  this  so,  that  all  men  of  hitherto  widest  reach  in 
natural  science  and  lorical  thought  have  been  led  to  fix  their  minds 
only  on  the  innumerable  paths  of  pleasure,  and  ideals  of  beauty 
wtiich  are  tramd  on  the  scro"  of  creation,  and  are  no  more  tempted 
to  arraign  as  unjust,  or  ev  lament  as  unfortunate  the  essential 
equivalent  of  sorrow,  than  in  the  seven-fold  gloriee  of  sunrise  to 
deprecate  the  mingling  of  shadow  with  its  light. 

This,  however,  though  it  has  always  been  the  sentiment  of  the 
healthiest  natural  philosophy,  has  never,  as  you  well  know,  been  the 
doctrine  of  Christianity.  That  religion,  as  it  comes  to  us  with  the 
promise  of  t  kingdom  m  which  there  shall  be  no  more  Death,  neithpr 
sorrow  nor  crying,  so  it  has  always  brought  with  il  the  confession  of 
calamity  to  be  at  present  in  patience  of  mystery  endured;  and  not 
by  us  only,  but  apparently  for  our  sakes,  by  the  lower  creatures,  for 
whomi  It  IS  inconceivable  that  any  good  should  be  the  final  goal  of 
m.  1  oward  these,  the  one  lesson  we  have  to  learn  is  that  of  pity. 
*  or  all  human  loss  and  pain,  there  is  no  comfort,  no  interpretation 
worth  a  thought,  except  only  in  the  doctrine  of  the  Resurrection;— 
of  which  doctnne,  remember,  it  is  an  immutable  historical  fact  that 
ml  the  beautiful  work,  and  all  the  happy  existence  of  mankind, 
mtherto,  has  depended  on,  or  consisted  in,  the  hope  of  it. 


RELI010U8  THOUGHT  IN  ART  191 

TIIK  TBUE  AND  THE  FALSE  IN  ROMANCE. 

And  here  I  most  at  once  pray  you,  as  I  have  prayed  you  to  remove 
all  associations  of  falsehood  from  the  word  romance,  so  also  to  clear 
them  out  of  your  faith,  when  you  begin  the  study  of  mythology. 
Never  confuse  a  Myth  with  a  Lie, — nay,  you  must  even  be  cautious 
xiow  far  you  even  permit  it  to  be  called  a  fable.  Take  the  frequent- 
est  and  simplest  of  myths  for  instanoa— that  of  Fortune  and  her 
wheel.  Enid  does  not  herself  conceive,  or  in  the  least  intend  the 
heum  of  bm  aong  to  oonoeive,  that  there  stands  anywhere  in  the 
universe  a  real  woman,  turning  an  adamantine  wheel  whose  revolu- 
tions  have  power  over  human  destiny.  She  means  only  to  assert, 
tinder  that  image,  more  clearly  the  law  of  Heaven's  continual  deal- 
ing with  man, — "He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat  and 
luth  exalted  the  hnmUe  and  meek."—£«e<.  //. 

WOlfAKHOOD,  CHIIDHOOO  AJTD  CHBI8TIANITY. 

But  from  the  moment  when  the  spirit  of  Christianity  had  been 
entirely  interpreted  to  the  Western  races,  the  sanctity  of  woman- 
hood worshipped  in  the  Madonna,  and  the  sanctity  of  childhood  in 
unity  with  that  of  Christ,  became  the  light  of  every  honest  hearth, 
and  the  joy  of  every  pure  and  chaetened  soul.  Yet  the  traditions  of 
Mt  subject,  and  the  vices  of  luxury  which  develop  \  themselves  in 
thp  following  (fourteenth)  century,  prevented  the  manifestation  of 
this  new  force  in  domestic  life  for  two  centuries  more;  and  then  at 
last  in  the  child  angels  of  Luca,  Mino  of  Fesole,  Luini,  Angelico, 
Perugino,  and  the  first  days  of  Raphael,  it  expressed  itself  as  the  one 
pure  and  sacred  passion  which  protected  Christendom  from  the  ruin 
of  the  Renaissance. 

Nor  has  it  since  failed;  and  whatever  disgrace  or  blame  obscured 
the  conception  of  the  later  Flemish  and  incipient  English  schools, 
the  children,  whether  in  the  pictures  of  Rubens,  Rembrandt,  Van- 
dyke, or  Sir  Joshua,  were  always  beautiful.  An  extremely  dark 
period  indeed  follows,  leading  to  and  persisting  in  the  French  Revo- 
lution, and  issuing  in  the  merciless  manufacturing  fury,  which 
today  grinds  children  to  dust  between  millstones,  and  tears  them  t  ) 
pieces  on  engine-wheels, — against  which  rises  round  us.  Heaven  be 
thanked,  again  the  protest  and  the  power  of  Christianity,  restoring 
the  fields  of  the  quiet  earth  to  the  stqis  of  her  infancy. — Leet.  IV. 

DESIGN  IN  CREATION. 

To  my  own  mind,  there  is  no  more  beautiful  proof  of  benevolent 
design  in  the  creation  of  the  earth,  than  the  exact  adaptation  of  its 
materials  to  the  art-power  of  man.  The  plasticity  and  constan^v 
under  fire  of  clay;  the  ductility  and  fusibility  of  gold  and  iron ;  the 

consistent  softness  of  marble;  and  the  fibrous  touuhness  of  wood, 
are  in  each  material  carried  to  the  exact  degree  which  renders  them 


>fi  THE  BMUOION  OF  RUSKIN 

momth*  of  ikfll  bj  their  niistanee,  and  full  of  reward  for  it  by 
VbMt  compliance:  so  that  the  delight  with  which,  after  sufficiently 
innmate  study  of  the  methods  of  manual  work,  the  student  ought  to 
regard  the  excellence  of  a  masterpiece,  is  never  merely  ti^  •mrArth 
tion  of  difficulties  overcome,  but  the  sympathy,  in  a  certain  lenet. 
both  with  the  enjovment  of  the  workman  in  managing  a  robitanw 
•0  pliable  to  his  will,  and  with  the  worthinaM,  fitneii,  «nd  obedience 
of  the  material  itself,  which  at  oom  iavitei  his  authority,  and 
nwaida  hi*  cioncMriona.— leofc  F. 

THE  LAW  09  WnDOM. 

There  never  has  been,  there  never  can  be,  any  other  law  respect- 
tte  wisdom  that  is  from  above,  than  this  one  precept,— "Buy  the 
Truth,  and  sell  it  not"   It  is  to  be  costly  to  you— of  labour  and 
patience;  and  you  are  never  to  tell  it,  but  to  guard,  and  to  give.— > 

LESSONS  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 

9?  repo$e  of  mind,  I  say;  and  there  is  a  singular  physical 
tenth  illustrative  of  that  spiritual  life  and  peace  which  I  muft  yet 
detain  you  by  indicating  m  the  subject  of  our  study  to-day.  "/ou 
see  how  this  foulness  of  false  imagination  represents,  in  every  line, 
the  clouds  not  only  ai  monstrous,— but  twnuUuoui.  Now  all  lovely 
doads,  remember,  are  quiet  eloads, — ^not  merely  quiet  in  appear- 
anc^  because  of  their  greater  height  and  distance,  but  quiet  actually, 
fixed  for  hours,  it  may  be,  in  the  same  form  and  place.  I  have  seen 
a  fair-weather  cloT'd  Ligh  over  Coniatci  Old  Man,— not  on  the  hill, 
observe,  but  a  ve.  ical  mile  above  it,— etand  motionless,— change- 
less,— for  twelve  hours  tof^ther.  From  four  o'clock  in  the  after* 
noon  of  one  day  I  watched  it  through  the  night  by  the  north  twilight, 
till  the  dawn  struck  it  with  full  crimson,  at  four  of  the  folfow- 
ing  July  morning.  What  is  /glorious  and  good  in  the  heavenly 
cloud,  you  can,  if  you  will,  bnng  also  into  your  lives,— which  are 
indeed  like  it,  in  their  vanishing,  but  how  much  mere  in  their  not 
vanishing,  till  the  morning  take  them  to  itself.  As  this  ghastly 
rhantaay  of  death  is  to  the  mighty  clouds  of  which  it  is  written, 
'The  chariots  of  God  are  twenty  thousand,  even  tiiousanda  of 

angels,"  are  the  fatea  to  which  your  passion  may  condemn  you,  or 

your  resolution  raise.  You  may  drift  with  the  phrenzy  of  the 
whirlwind, — or  be  fastened  for  your  part  in  the  pacified  effulgence 
of  the  sky.  Will  you  not  let  your  lives  be  lifted  up,  In  fniitfuf  rain 
for  the  earth,  in  scatheless  snow  to  the  sunshine, — so  blessing  the 
years  to  come  when  the  surest  knowledge  of  England  shall  be  of  the 
will  of  her  heavenly  Father,  and  the  purest  art  of  England  be  the 
inheritance  of  her  simplest  diildrai?— £ee(.  VL 


XVII 


OUE  FATHERS  HAVE  TOLD  UR 

Th>  Bibu  or  Amnm. 
4  Chapten  and  8  AppoidioaiL  (18804(.) 

Thia  little  work  of  140  pages  is  valuable  as  a  sketch  of  tilt  Mily 
lUrtopy  of  Christendom.  Mr.  Ruskin  saye  it  waa  written  "at 
the  request  of  a  young  English  govemcM  that  I  wmild  write  wim 
pieces  of  history  which  her  pupils  could  gather  some  good  out  of  " 

No  explanation  is  given  of  the  double  tiUe,  but  it  may  be  pre- 
ramed  that  "The  Bible  of  Amiene"  ww  derigned  a>  one  section  of  a 
more  extended  work  under  the  general  title.   There  are,  indeed 
two  Supplements  bearing  the  titlai  of  "The  Shrine  of  the  Slavee'' 
and  "The  Place  of  the  Dragona"  which  ffil  nearly  sixty  pages. 

The  work,  as  a  whole,  is  decidedly  religious  in  tone  and  indicates 
a  more  settled  conviction,  and  leas  of  doubt  in  Buskin's  mmd,  on 
questions— not  of  theological  opinion— hot  of  settled  faith  in  the 
fundamental  truths  of  Christianity. 

On  this  matter  it  is  worth  while  to  quote  Collingwood,  who  says- 
He  (Ruskin)  had  come  oat  of  the  pht<e  of  doubt,  into  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  real  and  wholesome  infljf  of  serious  religion- 
xnto  an  attitude  of  mind  in  which,  without  unsaying  anything  he 
had  aaid  against  narrowness  of  creed  and  inoonaiatenoy  of  practice, 
he  regarded  the  fear  of  God  and  the  revelation  of  the  Divine  Spirit 
as  great  facts,  as  motives  not  to  be  neglect«Mi  in  the  study  of  hiatofy 
and  the  groundwork  of  civiliaation  and  the  guide  of  progress  "» 

Although  ritten  "for  boys  and  girls"  it  must  be  admitted  that 
this  book  IS  r  complex  reading,  mixing  much  of  history,  tradi- 
tion,  and  Ic  mg,  with  some  aunple  atoriea  of  eariy  Christendom. 
But  :t  is  a  really  valuable  work.  The  centre  of  it  is  the  French 
Venice  Amiens  with  its  historic  Cathedral  and  Statuary,— all  the 
work  of  artists  who  made  Oiriatianity  thdr  theme,  and  have  left 
their  witnesse?  in  marble^— 4M»t  only  npfesnting  the  ftiths  and 
»"Ufe  of  John  BmWb,"  p.  m. 


193 


194  THE  RELIOION  OF  RVSKIN 


virtues  of  the  Bible,  but  almost  all  its  greater  characters,  and  most 

of  the  books  of  the  Bible. 

The  work  is  devoted  to  three  things  which  Ruskin  held  sacred. 
"These  three,"  he  says,  "Art,  History,  and  Philosophy,  are 
each  but  one  part  of  the  Heavenly  Wisdom,  which  sees  not  as  man 
secth,  but  with  Eternal  Charity;  and  because  she  rejoices  not  in 
Iniquity,  therefore  rejoices  in  the  Truth. 

For  true  knowledge  is  of  Virtues  only:  of  poisons  and  vices,  it  is 
Hecate  who  teaches,  not  Athena.  And  of  all  wisdom,  chiefly  the 
Politician's  must  consist  in  this  divine  Prudence;  it  is  not,  indeed, 
always  necessary  for  men  to  know  the  virtues  of  their  friends,  or 
their  masters;  since  the  friend  will  still  manifest,  and  the  master 
use.  But  woe  to  the  Nation  which  is  too  cruel  to  cherish  the  virtue 
of  its  subjects,  and  too  cowardly  to  recognize  that  of  its  enemies  I" 

JEBOME  AND  THE  B3LE. 

Sf).  The  candour  which  lies  at  the  basis  of  his  character  has 
given  us  one  sentence  of  his  own,  respecting  that  chejige,  which  is 
worth  some  volumes  of  ordinary  confessions.  "I  left,  not  only  par- 
ents and  kindred,  but  the  accugtomed  luxuries  of  delicate  life." 
The  words  throw  full  light  on  what,  to  our  less  courageous  temper, 
seems  the  exaggerated  reading  by  the  early  converta  of  Christ's  words 
to  them — "Ho  that  lovcth  father  or  mother  more  than  me,  is  not 
worthy  of  me."  We  arc  content  to  leave,  for  much  lower  interests, 
either  father  or  mother,  and  do  not  see  the  necessity  of  any  farther 
sacrifice:  we  should  know  more  of  ourselves  and  of  Christianity  if 
we  oftener  sustained  what  St.  Jerome  found  the  most  searcbing 
trial.  I  find  scattered  indications  of  contempt  among  his  biogra- 
phers, because  he  could  not  resign  one  indulgence — that  of  scholar- 
ship;  and  the  usual  sneers  at  monkish  ignorance  and  indolence  are 
in  his  case  transferred  to  the  weakness  of  a  pilgrim  who  carried  his 
library  in  his  wallet.  It  is  a  singular  question  (putting,  as  it  is  the 
modern  fashion  to  do,  the  idea  of  Providence  wholly  aside,) 
whetli  r,  but  for  the  literary  enthusiasm,  which  was  partly  a  weak- 
ness of  this  old  man's  character,  the  Bible  would  ever  have  become 
t  ae  library  of  Europe.  For  that,  observe,  is  the  real  meaning,  in  its 
UyA  power,  of  the  word  Bihle.  Not  book,  merelv;  'but  "Bibliothcca," 
Treasury  of  Books. 

I  could  joyfully  believe  that  the  words  of  Christ,  "If  thev  hear 
not  Moses  and  the  Prophets,  neither  will  they  be  persuaded  though 
one  rose  from  the  dead,"  had  haunted  the  spirit  of  the  recluse,  until 
he  resolved  that  the  voices  of  immortal  appeal  should  be  made 
audib:e  to  the  Churches  of  all  the  earth.  But  so  far  as  we  have  evi- 
dence, there  was  no  audi  will  or  hope  to  exalt  the  quiet  instincts  of 


REU0I0U8  THOUOHT  IN  ART  tgg 

hu  Mtural  induatry;  and  partly  as  a  scholar's  exercise,  partly  as  an 
old  mans  recreation,  the  severity  of  the  Latin  language  was  soft- 
ened,  like  Venetian  crystal,  by  the  variable  fire  of  Hebrew  thought, 
and  the  "Book  of  Books"  took  the  abiding  form  of  which  alllhe 
S^eSiira.  natiOM  wbi  to  Be  an  hourly  expanding 

VALUE  or  SCBIPTUWt  IK  THE  COMHON  LAXOVAOB. 

39.  And  in  this  matter  you  have  to  note  ihat  the  gist  of  it  lies, 
not  m  the  translation  of  the  Hebrew  and  Greek  Scriptures  into  an 
«uier  and  a  common  language,  but  in  their  presentation  to  the 
Church  as  of  common  authority.  The  earlier  Gentile  Christians 
Had  naturally  a  tendency  to  carry  out  in  various  oral  ezasseration 
of  corruption,  the  teaching  of  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles,  iintil  their 
freedom  from  the  bondage  of  the  Jewish  law  passed  into  doubt  of  its 
M^iration;  Mid,  after  the  fall  of  Jerusalem,  even  into  horror- 
Btonckm  interdiction  of  ita  observance.  So  that,  only  a  few  vears 
after  the  remnant  of  exiled  Jews  in  Pella  had  elected  the  Gentile  Mar- 
cus  for  their  Bishop,  and  obtained  leave  to  return  to  the  ^lia  Capi- 
tolma  built  by  Hadrian  on  Mount  Zion,  "it  became  a  matter  of 
doubt  and  controversy  whether  a  man  who  sincerely  acknowledged 
Jesus  as  the  Messiah,  but  who  still  continued  to  <^Mrve  the  Imrof 
Moses,  could  possibly  hope  for  salvation!" 

WHAT  WE  NEED  TO  KKOW  0»  THl  VmM. 

^IS:  I*  be  a  task  of  great,  and  in  nowise  profitable  diffi- 
«ttity  to  detomune  in  what  measure  the  consent  of  the  general 
l^tmrch,  and  in  what  measure  the  act  and  authority  of  Jerome,  con- 
tributed to  fix  m  their  ever  since  undisturbed  harmony  and  majesty, 
the  canons  of  Mosaic  and  Apostolic  Scripture.  All  that  the  younir 
reader  need  know  is,  that  when  Jerome  died  at  Bethlehem,  thu 
great  deed  was  virtually  accomplished:  and  the  series  of  historic  and 
didactic  books  whi<*  form  our  present  Bible,  (including  the  Apocry- 
pha) were  established  in  and  above  the  nascent  thought  of  the 
noblest  races  of  men  living  on  the  terrestrial  globe,  as  a  direct  mes- 
sage to  them  from  its  Maker,  containing  whatever  it  was  necessary 
for  them  to  learn  of  His  purposes  t«  wards  them,  and  commanding 
or  advismg,  with  divine  authority  and  infallible  wisdom,  all  that  wm 
beet  for  them  to  do,  and  happiest  to  desiie. 

RESPONSIBILITY  AND  THE  BIBLE. 

41.  And  it  is  only  for  those  who  have  obeyed  the  law  sincerely, 
#  .Sy  ,  ''Jf*      *'°P®  *o  them  by  the  lawgiver  has  been 

fulfilled.   The  wowt  "children  of  disobedience"  are  those  who 
Mcept^of  theWoid,iriiatthqrlike,andNftiMwfaalthe7hato:iMV  < 


196  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

is  this  pervernty  in  them  always  conscious,  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  sins  of  the  Church  have  been  brought  on  it  by  enthusiasm 
which,  in  passionate  contemplation  and  advocacy  of  parts  of  the 
Scripture  easily  erasped,  neglected  the  study,  and  at  last  betrayed 
the  balance,  of  the  rest.  What  forms  and  methods  of  self-will  are 
concerned  in  the  wresting  of  the  Scriptures  to  a  man's  destruction, 
IS  for  the  keepers  of  consciences  to  examine,  not  for  ua.  The  history 
we  have  to  learn  must  be  wholly  cleared  of  such  debate,  and  the 
influence  of  the  Bible  watchefl  exclusively  on  the  potBOni  who 
ceive  the  Word  with  joy,  and  obey  it  in  truth. 

THE  t'OWEB  OF  THE  CB068. 

42.  There  has,  however,  been  always  a  farther  difficulty  in 
ezunming  the  power  of  the  Bible,  than  that  of  distinguishing  hon- 
est from  dishonest  r  fi  Jers.  The  hold  of  Christianity  on  the  souls  of 
men  must  be  examined,  when  we  come  to  close  dealing  with  it,  under 
these  three  several  heads:  there  is  first,  the  power  of  the  Cross  itself, 
and  of  the  theory  of  salvation,  upon  the  heart, — then,  the  operation 
of  the  Jewish  and  Greek  Scriptures  on  the  intellect,-  then,  the  in- 
fluence on  morals  of  the  teaching  and  example  of  the  living  hierar- 
chy. And  in  the  comparison  of  men  as  they  are  and  as  they  might 
have  been,  there  are  these  three  questions  to  be  separately  kept  in 
mind, — first,  what  would  have  been  the  temper  of  Europe  without 
the  charitv  and  labour  meant  by  'Tiearing  the  Cross ;"  then,  secondly 
what  would  the  intellect  of  Europe  have  become  without  BibUcal 
literature;  and  lastly,  what  would  the  social  ordra  of  Eonme  have 
become  without  its  hierarchy. 

43.  You  see  I  have  connected  the  words  "charity"  and  'Habour" 
under  the  general  term  of  "bearing  the  cross."  "If  any  man  will 
come  after  me,  let  him  deny  himself,  (for  charity)  and  take  up  his 
cross  (of  pai.i)  and  follow  me." 

The  idea  has  been  exactly  reversed  bv  modem  Protestantism, 
which  sees,  in  the  cro«s,  not  a  furca  to  which  it  is  to  be  nailed ;  but  a 
raft  on  which  it,  and  all  its  valuable  properties,  are  to  be  floated  into 
Paradise. 

44.  Only,  therefore,  in  days  when  the  Cross  was  received  with 
courage,  the  Scripture  searched  with  honesty,  and  the  Piastor  heard 
in  faith,  can  the  pure  word  of  Goi\,  and  the  bright  sword  of  th» 
Spirit,  be  recognised  in  the  heart  aid  hand  of  Christianity. 

IXFtUBXCB  OP  THE  8II5LE  ON  MANKIND. 

45.  Much  more,  must  the  scholar,  who  would  comprehend  in 
any  degree  approaching  to  completeness,  the  influence  of  the  Bible 
on  mankind,  be  able  to  read  the  interpretations  of  it  which  rose 
into  the  great  arts  of  Europe  at  their  culmination.  In  every  pro- 
vince of  Christendom,  according  to  the  degree  of  art-power  it  pos> 


RELI0I0V8  THOUOHT  IN  ART  197 

8,  a  series  of  illustrations  of  the  Bible  were  produced  as  time  went 
on;  beeinnmg  with  vignetted  illustrations  of  manuscript,  advancing 
into  life-size  sculpture,  and  concluding  in  perfect  power  of  reaUstto 
painting.  These  teachings  and  preachings  of  the  Oiurch,  by  means 
of  art,  are  not  only  a  most  important  part  of  the  general  Apostolic 
Acta  of  Christianity;  but  their  study  is  a  necessary  part  of  Biblical 
wholarship,  so  that  no  man  can  in  any  large  sense  understand  the 
Bible  itself  until  he  has  learned  also  to  read  these  national  com- 
mentaries upon  it,  and  been  made  aware  of  their  collective  weight. 
The  Protestant  reader,  who  most  imagines  himself  independent  in 
his  thought,  and  private  in  his  study,  of  Scripture,  is  neverthelesB 
usually  at  the  mercy  of  the  nearest  preacher  who  has  a  pleasant  voice 
and  ingenious  fancy  j  receiving  from  him  thankfully,  and  often 
reverently,  whatevw  interpretation  of  texts  the  agreeable  voice  or 
ready  wit  may  recommend:  while,  in  the  meantime,  he  remains  en- 
tirely ignorant  of,  and  if  left  to  his  own  will,  invariably  destroys  as 
injurious,  the  deeply  meditated  interpretations  of  Scripture  which, 
in  their  matter,  have  been  sanctioned  by  the  consent  of  all  the 
Christian  Church  for  a  thousand  years;  and  in  their  treatment, 
have  been  exalted  by  the  trained  skill  and  inspired  imaginatio&  <rf 
tlM  noblest  souls  ever  endoeed  in  mortal  clay. 

ABT  AS  AN  AID  TO  BIBLB  INTBBPBETATION. 

48.  There  are  few  of  the  fathers  of  the  Christian  Church  whose 
CMMaentanes  on  the  Bible,  or  personal  theories  of  its  gospel,  have 
not  been,  to  the  constant  exultation  of  the  enemies  of  the  Church, 
fretted  and  disgraced  bv  angers  of  controversy,  or  weakened  and 
distracted  by  irreconcilable  heresy.  On  the  contrary,  the  scriptural 
teaching,  through  their  art,  of  such  men  a?  Orcagna,  Giotto,  Angel- 
ico,  Luca  della  Robbia,  and  Luini,  is.  U'ei.Jly,  free  from  all  earthly 
taint  of  momentary  passion;  its  patience,  meekness,  and  quietness 
are  incap^le  of  error  through  either  fear  or  anger;  they  are  able, 
without  offence,  to  say  all  that  they  wish;  they  are  bound  by  tradi- 
tion into  a  brotherhood  which  represents  unperverted  doctrines  by 
unchanging  scenes;  and  they  are  compelled  by  the  nature  of  their 
work  to  a  deliberation  and  order  of  method  which  remit  in  tlM  par* 
est  state  and  frankest  use  of  all  intelleotoal  power. 


nrepntATiON  of  the  sceiptubes. 
48.  All  our  conceptions  and  reasonings  on  the  subject  of  inspira- 
tion have  been  disordered  by  our  habit,  first  of  distinguishing 
aiaely— or  at  least  needlessly— between  inspiration  of  words  and 
M  acts;  and  secondly  by  our  attribution  of  inspired  strength  or 
wisdom  to  some  persons  or  some  writers  only,  instead  of  to  the 
whole  body  of  believers,  in  so  far  as  they  are  partakers  of  the  Grace 
Of  Christ,  the  Love  <tf  God,  and  the  Fellowship  <a  the  Hdy  Ghost. 


198 


TEE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


In  the  degree  in  which  every  Christian  receives,  or  refuses,  the 
several  gifta  expressed  by  that  general  benediction,  he  enters  or 
is  cast  out  from  the  inheritance  of  the  saints, — the  exact  degree 
in  which  he  denies  the  Christ,  angers  the  Father,  and  grieves  the 
Holy  Spirit,  he  becomes  uninspired  or  unholy, — and  in  the  measure 
in  which  he  trusts  Christ,  obeys  the  Father,  and  consents  with  the 
Spirit,  he  becomes  inspired  in  feeling,  act,  word,  and  reception  of 
word,  according  to  the  capacities  of  nis  nature.  He  is  not  gifted 
with  higher  ability,  nor  called  into  new  offices,  but  enabled  to  use 
his  granted  natural  powers,  in  their  appointed  place,  to  the  bet.t 
purpose.  A  child  is  inspired  as  a  child,  and  a  maiden  as  a  maiden; 
the  weak,  even  in  their  weakness,  and  the  wise,  only  in  their  hour. 

That  is  the  simply  determinable  theory  of  the  inspiration  of  all 
true  members  of  the  Church ;  its  truth  can  only  be  known  by  prov- 
ing in  trial :  but  I  believe  thne  is  no  lecord  of  any  man's  having 
tried  and  declared  it  vain. 

49.  Beyond  this  theory  of  general  inspiration,  there  is  thu*  of 
especial  call  and  command,  with  actual  dictation  of  the  deeds  to 
be  done  or  words  to  be  said.  I  will  snter  at  present  into  no  exam- 
inafion  of  the  evidences  of  such  separating  influence;  it  is  not 
claimed  by  the  Fathers  of  the  Church,  either  for  themselves,  or 
even  for  Uie  entire  body  of  the  Sacred  writers,  but  only  ascribed 
to  certain  passages  dictated  at  certain  times  for  special  needs:  and 
there  is  no  possibility  of  attaching  the  idea  of  infallible  truth  to 
any  form  of  human  language  in  which  even  these  exceptional  pas- 
sages have  been  delivered  to  us.  But  this  is  demonstrably  true  of 
the  entire  volume  of  them,  as  we  have  it,  and  read, — each  of  us 
as  it  may  be  rendered  in  his  native  tongue ;  that,  however  mingled 
with  mystery  which  we  are  not  required  to  unravel,  or  difficulties 
which  we  should  be  insolent  in  desiring  to  solve,  it  contains  plain 
teaching  for  men  of  every  rank  of  soul  and  state  in  life,  which  so 
far  as  they  honestly  and  implicitly  obey,  they  will  be  happy  and 
innocent  to  the  utmost  powers  of  their  nature,  and  capable  of 
victory  over  all  adversities,  whether  of  temptation  or  pain. 

THE  PSALTER  AS  A  BOOK  OF  WORSHIP. 

50.  Indeed,  the  Psalter  alone,  which  practically  was  the  service 
book  of  the  Church  for  many  ages,  contains  merely  in  the  first 
half  of  it  the  sum  of  personal  and  social  wisdom.  The  Ist,  8ih, 
12th,  14th,  15th,  19th,  23rd,  and  24th  psalms,  well  learned  and 
believed,  are  enough  for  all  personal  guidance ;  the  48th,  72nd,  and 
75th,  have  in  them  the  law  and  the  prophecy  of  all  righteous  gov- 
ernment ;  and  every  real  triumph  ^  natural  science  is  anticipated 
in  the  104th. 


RELIGI0V3  THOUGHT  IN  AR'x 


«99 


THE  BIBLE  AS  HI8T0BY  ATJCO  LITKBATtTBB. 


61.  For  the  contents  of  the  entire  volume,  omndar  wbat  other 
group  of  historic  and  didactic  Utentoie  hae  a  range  """rtiireHtt 
with  it.  There  are — 

I.  The  stories  of  the  Fall  and  of  the  Flood,  the  grandest  homan 

traditions  founded  on  a  true  horror  of  sin. 

II.  The  story  of  the  Patriarchs,  of  which  the  eSFective  truth  is 
visible  to  this  day  in  the  polity  of  the  Jewish  and  Arab  races. 

III.  The  story  of  Moses,  with  the  results  of  that  tradition  in  the 
moral  law  of  all  the  civilized  world. 

IV.  The  story  of  the  Kings — virtually  that  of  all  Kinghood, 
in  David,  and  of  all  Philosophy,  in  Solomon:  culminating  m  the 
Psalms  and  Proverbs,  with  the  still  more  doee  and  pracucal  wis- 
dom of  Ecclesiasticus  and  the  Son  of  Siraeh. 

V.  The  story  of  the  Prophets — virtually  that  of  the  deepest  myi- 
tery,  tragedy,  and  permanent  fate,  of  national  existence. 

VI.  The  story  of  Christ. 

VII.  The  moral  law  of  St.  John,  and  his  closing  Apocalypse  of 

its  fulfilment. 

Think,  if  you  can  matdi  that  table  of  contents  in  any  other — 
I  do  not  say  "book"  but  "literature."  Think,  so  far  as  it  is  pos- 
sible for  any  of  us — either  adversary  or  defender  of  the  faith — to 
extricate  his  intelligence  from  the  habit  and  the  association  of 
moral  sentiment  based  upon  the  Bible,  what  literature  could  have 


the  world  had  remained  unravaged,  and  every  teacher's  truest 
words  had  been  written  down? 

52.  I  am  no  despiser  of  profane  literature.  So  far  from  it,  that 
I  believe  no  interpretations  of  Greek  religion  have  ever  been  so 
affectionate,  none  of  Roman  religion  so  reverent,  as  those  which 
will  be  found  at  the  base  of  my  art  teaching,  and  current  through 
the  entire  body  of  my  works.  But  it  was  from  the  Bible  that  I 
learned  the  symbols  of  Homer,  and  the  faith  of  Horace:  the  duty 
enforced  upon  me  in  early  youth  of  reading  every  word  of  the 
gospels  and  prophecies  as  if  written  by  the  hand  of  God,  gave  me 
the  habit  of  awed  attention  which  afterwards  made  many  passages 
of  the  profane  writers,  frivolous  to  an  irreligious  reader,  deeply 
grave  to  me.  How  far  my  mind  has  been  paralysed  by  the  faults 
and  sorrow  of  life, — how  far  short  its  knowledge  may  be  of  what 
I  might  have  known,  had  I  more  faithfully  walked  in  the  light 
I  had,  is  beyond  my  conjecture  or  confession :  but  as  I  never  wrote 
for  my  own  pleasiire  or  self-proclaiming,  I  have  been  guarded,  as 
men  who  so  write  always  will  be,  from  errors  dangerous  to  others ; 
and  the  fragmentary  expressions  of  feeling  or  statements  of  doc- 
trine, which  from  time  to  time  I  have  heen  able  to  give,  will  be 
found  now  by  an  attentive  reader  to  bind  themselves  together  into 


taken 


function,  though  every  library  in 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

LTr&J^  ^  •  iP**»n>»totion  of  Sacred  literature,-both  claaic 
Si^iTh'^'  S"*'^  will  enable  him  without  injustice  to  sympi^ 
evT  dime  generous  souls,  of  every  a^  S 

wi?wi,oT  «f         i^*  *  ^^'^  literature,  punnina  parallel 

of  Hebrews,  and  coalescing  in  the  symboUo  fegSSsof 
medisBval  Chnst*ndom,  is  shown  in  the  most  tender  andlmpr^- 
sive  way  hy  the  independent,  yet  similar  influence  of  Virgil  upon 
Dante,  and  upon  Bisliop  Gawame  Douglas.  At  earlier  dites,  the 
teach  ng  of  eTOry  master  trained  iu  the  Eastern  schools  was  nee- 
cwanly  grafted  on  the  wisdom  of  the  Greek  mythology;  and  thus 
the  story  of  the  Nemean  Lion,  with  the  aid  of  Athena  in  its  con! 
quest,  IS  the  real  root-stock  of  the  legend  of  St.  Jerome's  com- 
panion,  conquered  by  the  healing  gentleness  of  the  Spirit  of  life. 

54.  I  can  It  a  legend  only.  Whether  Heracles  iver  slew,  or 
bt.  Jerome  ever  cherished,  the  wild  or  wounded  creature,  is  0/  no 
moment  to  us  m  learmng  what  the  Greeks  meant  by  tLeir  vaae- 
outlmes  of  the  great  contest,  or  the  Christian  painters  by  their  fond 
inaisten^  on  the  constancy  of  the  Lion-friend.  Former  tradition 
m  tbe  btory  of  Samson,— of  the  disobedient  pronh^t.—of  David's 
first  inspired  victory,  and  finally  of  the  miracle  wrought  in  the 
defence  of  the  most  favoured  and  most  faithful  of  the  greater 
prophets  runs  always  parallel  in  symbolism  with  the  Dorian  fable- 
but  tlie  legend  of  St.  Jerome  takes  up  the  prophecy  of  the  Millen- 
nium, and  foretells,  with  the  Cumsean  Sibyl,  and  with  Isaiah,  a 
day  when  the  Fear  of  Man  shall  be  laid  in  benediction,  not  en- 
mity on  infenor  bem^,— when  they  shall  not  hurt  nor  destroy 
in  all  the  holy  Mountain,  and  the  Peace  of  the  Earth  shall  be  as 
far  removed  from  its  present  sorrow,  as  the  present  gloriously  ani- 
mate universe  from  the  nascent  desert,  whose  deeps  were  the  places 

J?f*?°"^'        i*s  mountains,  domes  of  fire. 

Of  that  day  knoweth  no  man ;  but  the  Kingdom  of  God  is  already 
come  to  those  who  have  tamed  in  their  own  hearts  what  was  ram- 
pant  of  the  lower  nature,  and  have  learned  to  cherish  what  is  lovelv 
Jii   .  WMidering  cfaildien  ot  the  clouds  anil  fields.— 

i/tuipter  S. 

CHRISTIANITY  WMl'l'M  IK  DKBM. 

57.    With  the  subsequent  quarrels  between  the  two  great  sects 
the  corrupted  church,  about  prayers  for  the  Dead,  Indulgences  vo 
the  living,  Papal  supremacies,  or  Popular  liberties,  no  man,  woman 
or  child  need  trouble  themselves  in  studying  the  history  of  Chris- 
tianity; they  are  nothing  but  the  squabbles  of  men,  and  kaghter 
of  fiends  among  its  ruins.   The  Life,  and  C  -spel,  and  Power  of  it 
are  all  written  in  the  mighty  works  of  its  mie  believers;  in  Nop- 
mandy  and  Sicily,  on  river  islets  of  Fiance  and  in  tiie  river  glens 
of  England,  on  the  rocks  of  Orvieto,  and  by  the  sands  of  Arno. 


RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT  IN  ART  t«f 

But  of  all,  the  simplest,  completest,  and  most  aathoritatiT«  in  its 
lessons  to  the  active  mind  of  Mocth  Buope,  ii  (Idi  on  Um  foaiid»> 
tion  atones  of  Amiens.  .„,,,. 

68.  Belie. e  it  or  not,  reader,  as  you  will:  understand  only  bow 
thoroughly  it  wa$  miM  believed;  and  that  all  beautiful  thinm  wm 
made,  and  all  brave  deeds  done  in  the  streng;th  of  it— until  what 
ve  may  call  "this  present  time,"  in  which  it  is  gravely  asked 
whether  Religion  has  any  effect  on  morals,  by  i^rsons  who  have 
essentially  no  idea  whatever  of  tho  meaning  <»  dither  Religion  or 
MoraUty.— Cft.  i. 

FAITH  THB  SUBSTANCE  OF  TBUE  LIFE. 

60.  But  if,  loving  well  the  creatures  that  are  like  yourself,  voa 
feel  that  you  would  love  still  more  dearly,  creatures  better  than 
yourself— were  they  revealed  to  you; — ^if  striving  with  all  your 
might  to  mend  what  ia  evil,  near  you  and  around,  you  would  fam 
look  for  a  day  when  some  Judge  of  all  the  Earth  shall  wholly  do 
right,  and  the  little  hills  rejoice  on  every  side;  if,  parting  with 
the  companions  that  have  given  you  all  the  best  joy  you  had  on 
Earth,  you  desire  ever  to  meet  their  eyes  again  and  clas^  their 
hands, — ^where  eyes  shall  no  more  be  dim,  nor  hands  fail ; — ^if,  pre- 

{>aring  yourselves  to  lie  down  beneath  the  grass  in  silence  and  lone- 
iness,  seeing  no  more  beauty,  and  feeling  no  more  gladness— you 
would  care  for  the  promise  to  you  of  a  time  when  you  should  see 
God's  light  again,  and  know  the  things  you  have  longed  to  know, 
and  walk  in  the  peace  of  everlasting  Love — then,  the  Hope  of  these 
things  to  you  is  religion,  the  Sui»tance  of  them  in  your  life  vk 
Faith.  And  in  the  power  of  them,  it  is  promised  us,  that  tho 
kingdoms  of  this  world  shall  yet  become  the  kingdoms  of  our  Lend 
and^of  His  CbaAr^  i, 


BOOK  THIRD 

Religious  Light  in  Architecture 
and  Sculpture 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHI 
TECTURE  AND  SCULPTURE 


THE  POETRY  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 
Onb  Vol. 

Part  I.   Thk  Cottag*— 6  Chaps. 
Put  n.  Tn  VnxA— 7  Chaps. 

Thk  is  one  of  the  eariier  works  of  Ruskin.  The  volume  con- 
sists, chieflj  of  a  series  of  articles,  vritten  in  1889,  for  London's 
Architectural  Magazine,  while  the  author  was  yet  a  student  at  Ox- 
ford. They  did  not  bear  the  name  of  the  author  but  were  pub- 
lished under  his  non  de  plume  of  Rata  Phutin.  Mr.  Loudon  wrote 
to  young  Ruskin's  fauier  in  the  following  terms  of  appreciation:— 

"Your  son  is  certainly  the  greatest  natural  genius  that  ever  it  has 
been  my  fortune  to  become  acquainted  with,  and  I  cannot  but  feel 
proud  to  think  that  at  some  future  period,  when  both  you  and  I  are 
under  the  turf,  it  will  be  stated  in  the  literary  history  of  your  son's 
life  that  the  fint  artide  of  his  mw  poblished  in  London's  Magazine 
of  Natural  History." 

At  a  later  date  the  articles  were  reprinted  in  book  form  and  il- 
histEsted.  They  treat  of  the  Architecture  of  European  Countries  in 
(dation  to  Natural  Scenery  and  National  Character  and  are  n> 
garded  as  a  valuable  contribution  to  the  subject. 

In  his  introduction  to  the  subject  Ruskin  says:  

"The  science  of  architecture,  followed  out  to  its  full  extent,  is  one 
of  tne  noblest  of  those  which  have  reference  only  to  the  creations  of 
human  minds.  It  is  not  merely  a  science  of  the  rule  and  compass, 
It  does  not  consist  only  in  the  observation  of  just  rule,  or  of  fair 
proportion:  It  is,  or  ought  to  be,  a  science  of  feeling  more  than  of 
rule,  a  ministry  to  the  mind,  more  than  to  the  «y«.  If  we  consider 

SOS 


•06  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

how  much  len  the  beautv  end  majesty  of  a  building  depend  upon 
its  pleasing  certain  prejuoices  of  the  eve,  than  upon  its  routing  o«t> 
tain  trains  of  meditation  in  the  mina,  it  will  show  in  •  moiDMit 
how  manv  intricate  questions  of  feeling  are  involvvd  in  the  raiting 
of  an  edifice ;  it  will  convince  us  of  the  truth  of  a  proposition,  which 
might  at  first  have  appeared  startling,  that  no  man  can  be  an  archi- 
tect, who  is  not  a  metaphyiieita." 

In  the  following  selections  we  see  that  from  the  commencement 
of  his  work  as  a  writer  and  a  critic,  (he  was  now  in  his  twentieth 
Tmt)  Buskin  was  imhoed  with  •  detply  nU^fimm  i^rit,  tmm  whidk 
ht  nmr  dsfMrted. 

THE  BELIGIOUB  VALUB  OW  BIXXT  COUNTBY. 

"It  should  he  remembered,  by  ewrj  prq>rietor  of  land  in  hill 
country,  that  hit  poisessions  are  the  meant  <»  •  peculiar  education, 
otherwise  unattainable,  to  the  artists,  and,  in  some  degree,  to  the 
literary  men,  of  his  country;  that,  even  in  this  limited  point  of 
view,  they  are  a  national  possession,  but  much  more  so  when  it  ia 
remembered  how  many  thousands  are  perpetually  receiving  from 
them,  not  merely  a  transitory  pleasure,  but  such  thrilling  perpetu- 
ity of  pure  emotion,  such  lofty  subject  for  scientific  speculation,  and 
such  ^p  lessons  of  natural  reli^on,  as  only  the  work  of  a  Deity 
can  impress,  and  only  the  spirit  of  an  immortal  can  feel:  they 
should  remember  that  the  shghtest  deformity,  the  most  contemp- 
tible excrescence,  can  injure  the  effect  of  the  noblest  natural  scen- 
ery, as  a  note  of  discord  can  annihilate  the  t^iprossion  of  the  p  urest 
harmony;  that  thus  it  is  in  the  power  of  worms  to  conceal,  to  de- 
stroy, or  to  violate,  what  angels  could  not  restore,  create,  or  conse- 
crate; and  that  the  right,  which  every  man  unquestionably  por 
■ettet,  to  be  an  ats,  it  extended  only,  in  public,  to  those  who  an 
innocent  in  idiotiBm,  not  to  the  more  malicious  clowns  who  thrust 
their  degraded  motley  conspicuously  forth  amidst  the  fair  colours 
of  earth,  and  mix  their  incoherent  cries  with  the  melodies  of  eter- 
nity, break  with  their  inane  laugh  upon  the  silence  whi -h  Creation 
keeps  where  Omnipotence  passes  most  visibly,  and  scrabble  over 
with  the  characters  of  idiocy  the  pages  that  have  been  written  Inrthe 
finger  of  God."— TAe  FngU$h  VUla. 

nature's  best  rooms  to  think  in. 

"Nature  has  set  aside  her  sublime  bits  for  us  to  feel  and  think 
in ;  she  has  pointed  out  her  productive  bits  for  us  to  daep  and  eat 
in ;  and,  if  we  sleep  and  eat  amongst  the  tuUimity,  we  «k  brutal ; 
if  we  poetise  amongst  the  cultivation,  we  are  abenrd.  There  are 
the  time  and  place  for  each  state  of  existence,  and  we  should  not 
jumble  that  which  nature  has  separated.  She  has  addressed  her- 
■elf,  in  one  part,  •mhoUj  to  the  mind,  tlun  is  nothing  !<»  nt  to  eat 


BEUOIOUa  UOBT  IN  ASOBITEOTUBE  toy 

but  bilberries,  nothing  to  rest  upon  but  rock,  and  we  have  no  busi* 
ness  to  concoct  pic-nics,  and  bring  cheese,  and  ale,  and  sandwiclMi, 
in  baskets,  to  gratify  our  beastly  natures,  where  natora  ntmt  in- 
tended ui  to  eat  (if  she  had,  we  needn't  have  brought  the  baskets). 
In  the  other  part,  she  has  provided  for  our  necessitiea;  and  we  are 
very  absurd,  if  we  make  ourselves  fantastic,  instead  of  comfortable. 
Therefore,  ell  that  we  ought  to  do  in  the  hill  villa  is,  to  adapt  it 
for  the  habitation  of  a  man  of  the  highest  faculties  of  perosptioii 
and  feeling;  but  only  for  the  habitation  of  hia  hoon  of  owninwi 
■ense,  not  of  enthusiasm ;  it  must  be  his  dwdling  aa  •  man,  not  m 
a  spirit;  as  a  thing  liaUa  to  daoty,  not  aa  an  eternal  «IIM0:  «  • 
peruhable,  not  m  an  iamoii^^^fht  HiU  Villa. 


II 


THE  SEVEN  LAMPS  OF  ARCHITECTURE. 
One  Vol.   Seven  Chaps,  (1849.) 

Chap.  1.  The  Lamp  of  Sacrifice. 

Chap.  2.  The  Lamp  of  Truth. 

Chap.  3.  The  Lamp  of  Power. 

Chap.  4.  The  Lamp  of  Beauty. 

Chap.  5.  The  Lamp  of  Life. 

Chap.  6.  The  Lamp  of  Memory. 

Chap.  7.  The  Lamp  of  Obedienoe. 

Suskin  was  only  thirty  years  old  when  he  gave  to  the  world  this 
marvelous  book.  Mr.  Harrison  has  well  said  of  this  book  that  it 
"did  for  the  art  of  building  what  Modern  Painters  had  done  for  the 
art  of  painting,  it  shook  conventional  ideas  to  the  root,  and  flung 
forth  a  body  of  new  and  pregnant  ideas."^  But  the  book  did  much 
more  than  this:  not  only  did  it  give  new  ideas,  but  it  applied  the 
higher  laws  of  moral  truth  to  facts  which  had  been  regarded  as 
purely  mechanical  or  intellectual.  As  in  all  his  works,  Ruakin  car» 
Tied  his  thought  upward.  If  he  builded  on  the  totik  he  saw  no 
beauty,  or  even  utility,  in  the  structure,  except  as  it  pointed  har- 
moniously towards  the  heavens.  The  seven  lamps  are  indeed  great 
lights:— they  are  aearch-lights,— throwing  oat  their  radiant  rays 
into  the  darkness  and  revealing  things  that  were  hid.  They  are 
constellations, — "seven  bright  stars"  as  Charlotte  Bronte  called  them. 

On  the  aiqtearance  of  this  book  the  New  York  Tribune,  dated  July 
13,  1849,  devoted  a  leading  article  to  it,  in  which  the  following 
tribute  is  paid  to  Ruskin: — "He  is  so  clearly  master  of  his  subject, 
whidi  seems  indeed  to  form  a  portion  of  his  life  and  being,  he 
writes  so  sinoerely  from  the  inspiration  of  a  large  interior  experi- 
ence, that  we  cannot  but  think  it  wiser,  as  well  aa  more  modest,  to 
place  ouvNlves  to  him  in  the  relation  of  learner^  rather  than  crit- 

i0B."i 
*John  Rnridn,  p.  57. 

'  By  tlM  conrtesy  of  the  present  Bdltor  «t  tha  Tribniw  thia  pang nph  waa  cop- 
lad  from  thair  Bla  CJid  aest  to  na. 

tot 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  109 

There  is,  perhaps,  more  of  studied  eloquence  in  this,  than  m  any 
other  of  Ruskin's  works;  yet  the  language  is  never  that  of  display 
but  is  a  €.'iijg  poetie  ezpnaion  o£  his  lofty  grandeur  of  thought. 

Or  loe,*  iioL  won  <»r  that  this  comparatively  small  work  of  200 
pages  should  furnish  jubject  for  one  of  the  "Great  Books  as  Life 
'  Teacl  5re* »  and  that  this  should  be  diosen  as  an  "interpretation  of 
the  St  '  w;.  ,,f  life."  For,  in  truth,  this  volume  is,  of  all  modem 
books,  the  most  striking  and  original  as  en  expragsion  of  the  essen- 
tials of  charactOT  building.  These  seven  lamps  of  which  the  author 
says:  "It  required  all  the  ingenuity  I  was  master  of  to  prevent  them 
becoming  eight,  or  even  nine,"*  are  called  the  "Lamps  of  Archi- 
tecture" and  thu  they  ore,— and  their  light  is  not  given  only  to 
the  architecture  of  stone  and  wood,  but  also  to  that  higher  struc- 
tural power  of  man,  which  makes  for  noble  soul  and  enternal  life. 

Li  his  introductory  preface  Mr.  Ruakin  says:  "There  is  no  ac- 
tion so  slight,  nor  so  mean,  but  it  may  be  done  to  a  great  purpose, 
and  ennobled  therefore;  nor  is  any  purpose  so  great  but  that  slight 
actions  may  help  it,  and  may  be  ao  done  as  to  help  it  much,  most 
especially  that  chief  of  all  pozpoHs,  the  pkansg  of  Qod.  Henea 
Oeorge  Herbert— 

'A  wemat  with  thii  claoM 

Makes  drudgery  divine; 
Who  Bweep*  a  room,  aa  for  thy  Ikw, 

Makes  that  and  tbt  aetioo  Aml' 

Therefore,  in  the  pressing  or  recommending  of  any  act  or  manner 
of  acting,  we  have  choice  of  two  separate  lines  of  argument:  one 
based  on  representation  of  the  tacpod&vaej  or  inherent  ytim  of  the 
work,  which  is  often  small,  and  always  disputable;  the  other  based 
on  proofs  of  its  relations  to  the  higher  ord.  a  of  human  virtue,  and 
of  its  aoceptablenMi,  ao  far  as  it  goes,  to  Him  who  is  the  origin 
of  virtue." 

Mr.  Harrison  says:  "It  was  the  studies  and  meditations  which 
are  unbodied  in  the  Bvrm  Luapa  that  first  tamed  John  Ruskin 
from  drawings  to  man,  from  wall  picturej  to  history  and  to  social 
institutions— which  converted  him  at  last  from  an  esthetic  connois- 
seur into  a  nxmlirt  who  went  £<wth  into  a  scornful  world  to  teach 
«  new  Gospel  of  w<nk  and  a  r^emeratkm  of  the  sodal  orguism.'" 

1  Newell  Dwight  ffiOia. 
*  Life  of  RaaklB,  p,  O. 
•Ton  CUTisMW,  T«L  L 


aio 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


In  quoting  from  this  work  we  perceive  that  the  author's  own  di- 
visions into  chapters  will  throw  light  upon  the  selection  and  we 
have  therefore  arranged  them  aonordingly. 

CHAPTER  I.   THE  LAMP  OF  SACRIFICE. 

DEFINITION  OF  8ACBIFICE. 

I  may,  perhaps,  aak  the  reader's  patience  while  I  set  down  those 
simple  reasons  which  cause  me  to  believe  it  a  good  and  just  feeling, 
and  as  well-pleasing  to  God  and  honorable  in  men,  as  it  is  beyond 
all  dispute  necessary  to  the  production  <tf  any  great  woric  in  the 
kind  with  which  we  are  at  present  concerned. 

III.  Now,  first,  to  define  this  Lamp,  or  Spirit  of  Sacrifice,  clearly 
I  have  said  that  it  prompts  us  to  the  ofiFering  of  precious  things 
merely  because  they  are  precious,  not  because  they  are  useful  or 
necessary.  It  is  a  spirit,  for  instance,  which  of  two  marbles,  equally 
beautiful,  applicable  and  durable,  would  choose  the  more  costly  be- 
cause it  was  so,  and  of  two  kinds  of  decoration,  equally  effective, 
would  choose  the  more  elaborate  because  it  was  so,  m  order  that  it 
might  in  the  same  compass  present  more  cost  and  more  thought. 
It  is  therefore  most  unreasoning  and  enthusiastic,  and  perhaps  best 
negatively  defined,  as  the  opposite  of  the  prevalent  feeling  of  mod- 
em tinm,  which  desires  to  prodoee  the  laigest  nwolta  «t  tlM  least 
cost 

god's  INTSBBST  JS  IfAN^B  WOBK. 

Can  the  Deity  be  indeed  honored  by  the  presentation  to  Him 
of  any  material  objects  of  value,  or  bv  any  direction  of  seal  or 
wisdom  which  is  not  immediately  beneficial  to  men? 

For,  observe,  it  is  not  now  the  question  whether  the  fairness  and 
majesty  of  a  building  may  or  may  not  answer  any  moral  purpose ; 
it  is  not  the  result  of  labor  in  any  sort  of  which  we  are  speaking, 
but  the  bare  and  mere  costliness — the  substance  and  labor  and 
time  themselves:  are  these,  we  ask,  independently  of  their  result, 
acc^table  offerings  to  Crod,  and  considered  by  Him  as  doing  Him 
honorT  So  long  as  we  refer  this  question  to  the  decision  of  roeling, 
or  of  conscience,  or  of  reason  merely,  it  will  be  contradictorily  or  im- 
perfectly answered;  it  admits  of  entire  answer  only  when  we  have 
met  another  and  a  far  different  question,  whether  the  Bible  be  in- 
deed one  book  or  two,  and  whether  the  character  of  God  revealed 
in  the  Old  IMament  be  otiMr  than  Wa  character  revealed  in  the 
New. 

OOD  ALWAYS  THX  SAMB. 

IV.  Now,  it  is  a  most  secure  truth,  that,  al&ong^  the  partieolar 
ordinances  divinely  an>ointed  for  ^tecial  pnipowi  at  any  givm 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  2it 

period  of  man's  history,  may  be  by  the  same  divine  authority  abro- 
gated  at  another,  it  is  impossible  that  any  character  of  God.  ap- 
pealed to  or  descnbed  m  any  ordinance  past  or  present,  can  ever 
be  changed  or  understood  as  changed,  by  the  aSrogation  of  that 
ordinance.  God  is  one  and  the  same,  and  k  pleased  or  displeased 
by  the  sarn^  hmgs  for  ever,  although  one  part  of  His  pleasure  may 
be  eroressed  at  one  time  rather  than  another,  and  although  the  mode 
^  '^nicf  His  pleasure  is  to  be  consulted  may  be  by  Him  graciously 
modified  to  the  circumstances  of  men.  Thus,  for  instance,  it  was 
necessary  that,  m  order  to  the  understanding  by  men  of  the  scheme 
of  Redemption,  that  scheme  should  be  foreshown  from  the  begin- 
nmg  by  the  type  of  bloody  sacrifice.  But  God  had  no  more  pleasure 
in  such  sacrifice  in  the  tune  of  Moses  than  He  has  now;  He  never 
accepted  as  a  propitiation  for  sin  any  sacrifice  but  the  single  one  m 
prospective ;  and  that  we  may  not  entertain  any  shadow  of  doubt 
on  this  subject,  the  worthlessness  of  all  other  sacrifice  than  this  is 
proclaimed  at  the  veiy  time  when  typical  sacrifice  was  most  impera- 
tively  demanded.  God  was  a  spirit,  and  could  be  worshipped  only 
m  spint  and  in  truth,  as  smdy  and  exclusively  when  every  day 
brought  Its  claim  of  typical  and  material  service  or  oflfering.  ^  now 
when  He  aska  for  none  but  that  of  the  hearL 

BACBEWCIAL  Tnrgg  MX78T  COW  BOSOTHnro. 

V.  Was  it  necessary  to  the  completeness,  as  a  type,  of  the  Leviti- 
cal  sacnfice,  or  to  its  utility  as  an  explanation  of  divine  purposes. 

«  'jo^°?."' anything  to  the  person  in  whose  behalf  it  wu 
offered?  On  the  contrary,  the  sacrifice  which  it  foreshadowed  was 
to  be  God  s  free  gift ;  and  the  cost  of,  or  difficulty  of  obtaining,  the 
sacrificial  type,  could  only  render  that  type  in  a  measure  obscure, 
and  less  expressive  of  the  offering  which  God  would  in  the  end 
prowde  for  all  men.  Yet  this  costliness  was  generally  a  condition 
or  tbe  acceptebleness  of  the  sacrifice.  "Neither  will  I  offer  unto  the 
J^rd  my  God  of  that  which  doth  cost  me  nothing. That  costlmess 
therefore,  must  be  an  acceptable  condition  in  all  human  offerings 
at  all  tunes ;  for  if  it  was  pleasing  to  God  once,  it  must  please  Him  i3- 
ways,  unless  direcUy  forbidden  by  Him  afterwards,  which  it  has 
never  been. 

A^,  was  it  necessary  to  the  typical  perfection  of  the  Levitical 
offering,  ttiat  it  should  be  the  best  of  the  flock?  Doubtless  the  spot- 
lessness  of  the  sacrifice  renders  it  more  expressive  to  the  Christian 
mind;  but  was  it  because  so  enressive  that  it  was  actually,  and  in 
80  many  words,  demanded  by  God?  Not  at  all.  It  was  dfemanded 
by  Him  emreasly  on  the  same  grounds  on  which  an  earthly  gov- 
onor  would  demand  it,  as  a  testimony  of  respect.  "OSer  it  now 

•S  ita.  BiT.  M.    Dent  rrL  16,  17. 


212  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSK  IN 

unto  thy  governor."*  And  the  less  valuable  offering  was  rejected,  not 
because  it  did  not  image  Christ,  nor  fulfill  the  purposes  of  sacrifice, 
but  because  it  indicated  a  feeling  that  would  grudge  the  best  of 
its  possessions  to  Him  who  gave  them;  and  bemuse  it  was  a  bold 
dishonoring  of  God  in  the  sight  of  man.  Whence  it  may  be  infalli- 
bly concluded,  that  in  whatever  offerings  we  may  now  see  reason  to 
present  unto  God  a  condition  of  their  acceptableness  will  be  now,  as 
it  was  then,  that  they  should  be  tlie  best  of  their  kind. 

IS  SPLENDOR  IN  TEMPLE  SERVICES  NECESSABY? 

VI.  But  farther,  was  it  necessary  to  the  carrjring  out  of  the 
Mosaical  system,  that  there  should  be  either  art  or  splendor  in  the 
form  or  services  of  the  tabernacle  or  temple?  Was  it  necessary 
to  the  perfection  of  any  one  of  their  typical  offices,  that  there  should 
be  that  hanging  of  blue,  and  purple,  and  scarlet?  those  taches  of 
brass  and  sockets  of  silver?  that  working  in  cedar  and  overlaying 
with  gold?  One  thing  at  least  is  evident:  there  was  a  deep  and  a >vful 
danger  in  it;  a  dan|;er  that  the  God  whom  they  so  worshipped, 
might  be  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  serfs  of  Egypt  with  the 
gods  to  whom  they  had  seen  similar  gifts  offered  and'^similar  hon- 
ors paid  This  danger  was  the  one  against  which 

God  made  provision,  not  only  by  commandments,  by  threatenings, 
by  promises,  the  most  urgent,  repeated,  and  impressive;  but  by 
temporary  ordinances  of  a  severity  so  terrible  as  almost  to  dim  for 
a  time,  in  the  eyes  of  His  people,  His  attribute  of  mercy.  The  prin- 
cipal object  of  every  instituted  law  of  that  Theocracy,  of  every 
judgment  sent  forth  in  its  vindication,  was  to  mark  to  the  people 
His  hatred  of  idolatry;  a  hatred  written  under  their  advancing 
steps,  in  the  blood  of  the  Canaanite,  and  more  sternly  still  in  the 
darkness  of  their  own  desolation,  when  the  children  and  the  suck- 
lings swooned  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  lion  tracked  his 
prey  in  the  dust  of  Samaria.  Yet  against  this  mortal  danger  pro- 
yision  was  not  made  in  one  wa^  (to  man's  thoughts  the  simplest, 
the  most  natural,  the  most  effective),  by  withdrawing  from  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Divine  Being  whatever  could  delight  the  sense,  or  shape 
the  imagination,  or  limit  the  idea  of  Deity  to  place.  This  one  way 
God  refused,  demanding  for  Himself  such  honors,  and  accepting 
for  Himself  such  local  dwelling,  as  had  been  paid  and  dedicated  to 
idol  gods  by  heathen  worshippers;  and  for  wnat  reason?  Was  the 
glory  of  the  tabernacle  necessary  to  set  fbrth  or  image  His  divine 
glory  to  the  minds  of  His  people?  What!  purple  or  scarlet  neces- 
sary to  the  people  who  had  ^een  the  great  river  of  Egypt  run  scar 
let  to  the  sea,  under  His  condemnation?  What!  golden  lamp  and 
cherub  necessary  for  those  who  had  seen  the  fires  of  heaven  falling 

*Mal.  i.  8. 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  aij 

•  }^  «»rts  opened  to  re- 

«^         ^r"*?  i'^'^TJ  «1««P  and  ^fillet  neces- 

^      uJ^®^,^*^  '^aves  of  the  Red  Sea  clasp  in 

their  arch(^  hollows  the  coipses  of  the  horee  and  his  rider?  Nav— 
not  so.  There  but  one  reason,  and  that  an  etenml  one;  that 
as  the  covenant  that  He  made  with  men  was  accompanied  with 
Bome  external  sign  of  its  continuance,  and  of  His  remSSnce  ot 
rt,  so  the  acceptance  of  that  covenant  might  be  marked  and  sieni- 

Si./^«",'^'/fi,'°'"^i  i'^''  obedience,  ind 

rarrender  of  themselves  and  theirs  to  His  will;  and  that  their  grat- 
Mude  to  Him,  and  continual  remembrance  of  Him,  might  have  at 
race  their  expression  and  their  enduring  testimony  in  the  presenta- 
tion  to  Him,  not  only  of  the  firstlings  of  the  herd  and  fold,  not  only 
of  the  fruits  of  the  earth  and  the  tithe  of  time,  but  of  aU  ti«a^ 

that  labors;  of  wealth  of  wood,  and  weight  of  stone;  of  the  strength 
of  uon.  and  of  the  Ught  of  gold.  ou^eugm 

TlTHtf  BELOKO  TO  OOD  ALWAYS. 

If  there  be  any  diflFerence  between  the  Levitical  and  the  Christian 
?fr°!'  may  be  just  so  much  the^dSTS 

SLf  w         ^^t?       be. no  excuse  accepted  because  the  Deity 

ZoZhl^^XM      ^"  **'°P'«'     He  is  invisible  it  i 
faith:  nor  any  excuse  because  other  calls 
fj,  T^'"*®^"  this  ought  to  be  done,  and 

not  the  other  left  undone.  Yet  this  objection,  MfewiWit  as 
must  be  more  specifically  answered.        «»» " 'i"!""*' « leewe, 

THE  BEST  GIFTS.— OOd's  HOUSE  AOT)  OtTIS. 

4n^;  t  better  and  more  honorable  offering  is  made  to  our  Master 
1^      «      *°  «  extending  the  knowledge  of  His  name, 

1^  the  virtues  by  which  that  name  i!  hallowed,  than 

fi^  ^if*"*"  K^'^  *«™P'«-   Assuredly  it  is  so:  woe  to  all 
other  kind  or  manner  of  offering  may  in  any 
vnse  take  the  gace  of  these !  Do  the  people  need  plac^  to  pray,  and 
calk  to  hear  his  word?  Then  it  is  no  time  for^smoothiSg  pUIaw 
or  carving  pulpits;  let  us  have  enough  first  of  walls  and  roofl.  Do 

li^^f*^^^^**!^*'^'"^/"""  to  bouse,  and  bread  from  day 

to  dayr  Then  they  are  deacons  and  ministers  we  want,  not  archi- 

IJ^  V  ^^T^J'^l         ^""^  ^«t  us  examine  our- 

selv^,  and  see  if  this  be  indeed  the  reason  for  our  backwardness 
in  the  lesser  work.  The  question  is  not  between  God's  house  end 
His  poor:  it  is  not  between  God's  house  and  His  Gonjel.  It  is  be- 
tween  Gods  house  and  ours.    Have  we  no  tesMlatod  colon  «n 


314 


THE  RELIOION  OF  RUSKIN 


our  floors?  no  frescoed  fancies  on  our  roofs?  no  niched  statuary  in 
oar  corridors?  no  gilded  furniture  in  our  chamber?  no  costly 
stones  in  our  cabinets?  Has  even  the  tithe  of  these  been  offered? 
They  are,  or  they  ought,  to  be,  the  signs  that  enough  uas  been  de- 
voted  to  the  great  purposes  of  human  stewardship,  and  that  thew 
remains  to  us  what  we  can  spend  in  luxury;  but  there  is  a  greater 
and  prouder  luxury  than  this  selfish  one— that  of  bringing  a  por- 
tion of  such  things  as  these  into  sacred  service,  and  presenting 
them  for  a  memorSd*  that  our  pleasure  as  well  as  our  toil  has  been 
hallowed  by  the  remembrance  of  Him  who  gave  boUi  the  strength 
and  the  reward.  And  untU  this  has  been  done,  I  do  not  see  how 
sadi  possessions  can  be  retained  in  happmess. 

■NBICB  THE  TKMPLBS. 

I  do  not  understand  the  feeling  which  would  arch  our  own 
gates  and  pave  our  own  thresholds,   and  leave  the  church 
with  its  narrow  door  and  foot-worn  sill;  the  feeling  which 
enriches  our  own  chambers  with  all  manner  of  costlmess,  and 
endures  the  bare   wall   and  mean   compass  of  the  temple. 
There  is  seldom  even  so  severe  a  choice  to  be  made,  seldom  so 
much  self-denial  to  be  exercised.    There  are  isolated  cases,  in 
which  men's  happiness  and  mental  activity  depend  upon  a  certain 
degree  of  luxury  in  their  houses;  but  t^^e^^,.*^^  .^.^^^J'^^J^J 
and  tasted,  and  profited  by.   In  the  plurality  of  i°«ten«^  nojmg 
of  the  kind  is  attempted,  nor  can  be  enjoyed;  mens  average  le- 
Bources  cannot  reach  it;  and  that  which  they  can  reach,  giv«  thwa 
no  pleasure,  and  might  be  spared.    It  will  be  seen,  in  the  course 
of  the  following  chapters,  that  I  am  no  advocate  for  meanness  of 
Srivate  habitation.  I  would  fain  mtroduce  into  it  all  magnificence 
LTand  £auty,  where  they  are  possible;  but  I  would  not  have  that 
Sss  expense^in  unnoticed  fineries  or  f^^Z'  Ti^^^^ 
ceilinEs  and  graining  of  doors,  and  fnnging  of  curtains,  and  thou- 
^SnT,  things  which  have  become  foolishly  and  apa  hetically 
habitual— things  on  whose  common  appliance  hang  whole  trades, 
to  which  there  never  yet  belonged  the  blessing  of  giving  one  ray 
of  real  pleasure,  or  becoming  of  the  remotest  or  most  contemptible 
use-thfngs  which  cause  half  the  expense  of  life,  and  destroy  more 
than  half  its  comfort,  manliness,  respectability,  freshness,  and  facil- 
ity   I  speak  from  experience:  I  know  what  it     to>ve  in  a  co^ 
tLm  with  a  deal  floor  and  roof,  and  a  hearth  of  mica  slate;  and 
it  to  be  in  many  respect^  healthier  and  happier  than  living 
L^een  a  Turkey  carpet  and  gilded  ceiling,  beside  a  steel  grate  and 
wlS  fendS  I  Snot  say^hat  such  things  have  not  their  place 
2d  p5i»SSrTba»  I  «y  ^>  «npbaticaUy,  that  the  tenth  part  of 

*MuB.  xxxL  M.  9m.  teri.  ^ 


REU0I0V3  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  t«s 

the  expense  which  is  sacrificed  in  domestic  vanities,  if  not  abflo> 
hitely  and  meaninglessly  lost  in  domestic  discomforts,  and  incmn- 
brances,  would,  if  collectively  oflFered  and  wisely  employed,  build  a 
marble  church  for  every  town  in  Englaad ;  such  a  church  as  it  should 
De  a  joy  and  a  bl^mg  even  to  peas  near  in  our  daily  ways  and  walks, 
and  as  it  would  bnng  the  light  into  the  eyes  to  see  from  afar,  lif^ 
ing  't3  fair  height  above  the  purple  crowd  of  humble  roofs. 

CHURCHES  OF  MABBU. 

^        "'^^  for  every  town:  I  do  not  want  a  marble  churcH 

SLTi^  ""v^^K^^/^'i  »a°t  niarble  churchS  at  all  for 

ttwip  own  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  spirit  that  would  build  them 
The  church  has  no  need  of  any  visible  s&endors;  her  pow«  is 
pendent  of  them  her  purity  is  in  some  degre^  oppSed  Jo  tSmt 
The  simplicity  of  a  pastoral  sanctuary  is  lovilier  tKnSe 

tZl'i^'^  "Pi^t        ^  H^ore  than  questionS  whSS 

to  the  people,  such  majesty  has  ever  been  the  source  of  any  incrS 

f[  f  nnftlP't^'  k"*  *°  tte  builders  it  has  been,  and  mS  eveX 
It  IS  not  the  church  we  want,  but  the  sacrifice;  not  the  emotion  of 
admiration,  but  the  act  of  adoration:  not  the  gift,  but  the  SvinS 

ifir^A^^T  """'^  '4"'y  ^«  undei^nding  ff  thS 
might  admit,  among  clauses  of  men  of  naturally  oppoiite  feelinm  • 
and  how  much  more  nobteneaa  in  the  work.        i"*"""  *w«ui^. 


GOD  H0N0B8  THE  WOBK  OP  LOVI. 

^♦il?'  ^^i,^  «sspecially  deprecate  the  imputation  of  any 

^UrTtS^^^tr'  to      ^ft  itself  than  that  whi<J  J 

s^r^hfr^S  'P'?*  °^  presentation,  it  may  be  well  to  oh- 
serve,  that  there  is  a  lower  advantage  which  neve?  fails  to  accom^ 
FhTfirtf  t*-!"^  observance  of  any  light  abstract  principle  mUe 
i  L^?lrnf''fii'r*P°!?f'''°°'  ™  the'^Israelite  J 

tneiess  nwarded,  and  that  connectedly  and  specifically,  by  the  in- 
«WMe  of  those  p<wse8sion3.  Wealth,  and  length  of  days,  and  peace, 
were  the  promised  and  expsnenced  rewards  of  his  oflferine.  thoueh 
they  were  not  to  be  the  objects  of  it.  The  tithe  paid  into  the  stoSs- 
house  was  the  expressed  condition  of  the  bleBsmg  which  there  should 
not  be  room  enoa|^  to  receive.  And  H  wfflbe  thus  always-  God 
never  forgeteany  work  or  labor  of  love;  and  whatever  it  may  be  of 
wftich  the  fii8t  and  best  proportions  or  powers  have  been  presented 
to  Him,  he  will  multiply  and  increase  sevenfold  tithes.  Therefore 
though  It  may  not  be  necessarily  the  interest  of  religion  to  admit 
the  service  of  the  arts,  the  arts  will  never  flourish  until  they  have 
been  primarily  devoted  to  that  ■ervice—dcvoted,  both  by  architect 
•na  en^loyer ;     the  <m«  in  fenqpolooi,  aameat,  affectionate  design ; 


3i6  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

by  the  other  in  oqienditaie  «t  least  more  frank,  at  leaat  leas  calcn* 
lating,  than  that  whioh  ha  would  admit  in  the  indulganoa  of  his 
own  privata  f aeUngk 

luzoBUVci  or  cmsAMMtn. 

Ornament  cannot  be  overcharged  if  it  be  good,  and  it  is  always 

overcharged  when  it  is  bad  It  is  not  leas  the  boast 

of  some  styles  that  they  can  bear  ornament,  than  of  others  that 
they  can  do  without  it;  but  we  do  not  often  enough  reflect  that 
those  very  styles,  of  so  haughty  simplicity,  owe  part  of  their  pleaa- 
urableness  to  contrast,  and  would  be  wearisome  if  universal.  They 
are  but  the  rests  and  monotones  of  the  art;  it  is  to  its  far  happier, 
far  higher,  exaltation  that  we  owe  those  fair  fronts  of  variegated 
mosaic,  charged  with  wild  fancies  and  dark  hosts  of  imagery, 
thicker  and  quainter  than  ever  filled  the  depth  of  midsummer 
dream ;  those  vaulted  gates,  trellised  with  close  leaves ;  those  window- 
labyrinths  of  twisted  tricery  and  starry  light ;  those  misty  masses 
of  multitudinous  pinnacle  and  diademed  tower;  the  only  witnesses, 
perhaps  that  remain  to  us  of  the  faith  and  fear  of  nations.  All 
else  for  which  the  builders  sacrificed,  has  passed  away — all  their 
living  interests,  and  aims,  and  achievements.  We  know  not  for 
what  they  labored,  and  we  see  no  evidence  of  their  reward.  Victory, 
wealth,  authority,  happiness — all  have  departed,  though  bought  by 
many  a  bitter  sacrifice.  But  of  them,  and  their  life,  and  their  toil 
upon  the  ean^,  one  reward,  one  evidence,  is  left  to  us  in  those  gray 
heaps  of  deep-wrou^t  stone.  They  have  taken  with  them  to  the 
grave  their  powers,  their  honors,  and  their  anon;  bat  they  bava 
left  us  their  adoration. 


CHAP.  n.  THE  LAMP  OF  TRUTH. 

THS  FLATTIRIHQ  LIB  WORM  THAK  THB  UAUOKim. 

I.  There  are  some  faults  slight  in  the  sight  of  love,  some  errors 
slight  in  the  estimate  of  wisdom;  but  truth  forgives  no  insult,  and 
endures  no  3tain.  We  do  not  enough  consider  this;^  nor  eno^i 
dread  the  slidit  and  continual  occasions  of  offenoe  Munst  her.  We 
ere  too  muchin  the  habit  of  lookins  at  falsehood  in  its  darkest 
associations,  and  through  the  color  of  its  worst  purposes.  That  in- 
dignation which  we  profess  to  feel  at  de^jit  absolute,  is  indeed  only 
at  deceit  malicious.  We  resent  calur  .y,  hypocrisy  and  treachery, 
because  they  harm  us,  not  because  they  are  untrue.  Take  the  de- 
traction and  the  mischief  from  the  untrnth,  and  we  are  little  of- 
fended by  it;  turn  it  into  praise,  and  we  mity  be  pleased  with  it 
And  yet  it  is  not  calumny  nor  treachery  ^t  does  the  laraest  sum 
of  mischief  in  the  world;  they  axe  oontmnaBy  emahed,  ana  are  feH 


RELJOIOUS  UQHT  IN  AROHITSOTVBS  tiy 

only  in  being  conouewd.  But  it  is  the  glistening  and  soflly  ndkm 
he;  the  amiaSle  fa]hc^;  the  patr  otic  lie  of  the  Eistorian,  tfce^S 
den  he  of  the  politician  the  lealous  he  of  the  parti«m,  the 

t^}'^  Z^}u\  ^  of  ea^  man  to  himSf 

that  that  black  mystety  over  humanity,  through  whShTnv 
pan  who  piwoes,  we  tbuik  m  we  would  thaJk  one  who  dug  a  w7l 
m  a  desert;  hwpy  m  Art  tlie  thint  for  truth  stiU  remaiw  Jith  ifc 
«ven  when  we  have  wUfiiUy  left  the  foonteiiif  of 

ta  AS  OK. 

It  would  be  well  if  moralists  less  frequently  confused  the  grest. 
TJl  "npardonableness.  the  two  characters  aredS^ 

f^  J^±J^  •  '■'^I*  d«P«°d3  partly  on  the  na- 

^L*  ^*  "  committed,  partly  upon  the 

WMeqaences  Its  pardonableness  depends,  humanly 
«?)eaking,  on  the  degree  of  temptation  to  it.  One  class  of  cimim- 
stances  determines  lie  weight  of  the  attaching  punishment  .-tSe 
other  the  claim  to  remission  of  punishment:  tSil  since  it  is  not 
TLolfr  ^  ^^"^  relafaVe  wei^t,  nor  possible  for  them 

{h«m  ?r„S?«K^**''''  conseouences,  of  alme,  it  is^ally  wise  in 
them  to  ouit  the  care  of  such  nice  measurements,  and  to  look  to  the 
2?,^^?  1,  condition  of  culpability;  esteeming  those  faults 
worat  which  are  committ^  under  least  temptation,  f  do  not  mean 

iflfi*il"'°*?^*rl**^r',  malicious  si  o?tS 

^l^.^f  deliberate  falsity;  yet  it  seems  to  me,  that  ttTshorSt 
way  to  check  the  darker  forms  of  deceit  is  to  set  watch  more  scmmr 
IZyZTk'^"^  have  mingled,  unregarded  TnTunX 

Jwl'^J****^5?^*^'<'"^^^«-  Do  not  let  li  lie  at  all.  Do  not 
think  of  one  falsity  as  harmless,  and  another  as  slight,  and  another 
as  unintended.  Cast  them  all  aside:  they  may  be* li^t  and  ace" 
dental;  but  ttiey  are  an  ugly  soot  from  the  smoie  of  tie  pitrfoJ  3 
that ;  and  it  is  better  that  our  hearts  should  be  swept  deai  ^  Xm! 
without  over  care  as  to  which  is  largest  or  M««Vtrt 

DiFFicuLTT  ov  muoxa  TKOm. 

it  k^fffiS?^^  ^  *r^**°f practice; 
«  M  1«»  a  matter  of  will  than  of  habit,  and  I  doubt  if  any  wcasion 

H«E^*  "^^Y^  I^™'*^       P™<=tice  and  formation  of  such 

a  naDit.   j  o  speak  and  act  truth  with  constancy  and  preekitm  is 
n^rly  as  difficult,  and  perhaps  as  meritorious,  as  to  speak  tt  tmder 
ntnnidation  or  penalty ;  and  It  is  a  strange  thought  hoVmany  men 
there  are,  as  I  trust,  who  would  hold  to  It  at  the  cost  of  fortinn? 

^^-^i  A^ii^i^i*"  "°        ia,  perhaps,  no  one  mor^  flaUy 
oppoiite  to  the  aimiglity,  no  one  moia '^wS 


sit  THE  BEUOiON  OF  RV8KIN 

and  of  being,"  than  thiB  of  lying,  it  is  surely  a  strange  insolence 
to  fall  into  the  foulness  of  it  <m  light  or  on  no  temptation,  and 
sorely  becoming  an  honorable  man  to  resolve  that,  whatever  sem- 
blances or  fallacies  the  necessary  course  of  his  life  may  compel  him 
to  bear  or  to  believe,  none  shall  disturb  the  serenity  of  his  voluntary 
•etioiii^  nor  diminish  the  xeality  of  his  choeen  ^"ghtt, 

TRUTH  AND  WOBK. 

n.  If  this  be  just  and  wise  for  truth's  sake,  mneh  more  ia  it  neo* 
enary  for  the  saike  of  the  delights  over  which  she  has  influence. 
For,  as  I  advocated  the  expression  of  the  Spirit  of  Sacrifice  in  the 
acts  and  pleasures  of  men,  not  as  if  thereby  those  acts  could  further 
the  cause  of  religion,  but  because  most  assuredly  they  might  therein 
be  infinitely  ennobled  themselves,  so  I  would  have  the  Spirit  or 
Lamp  of  T^th  clear  in  the  hearts  of  our  artists  and  hanoicraf  ts- 
m«n,  not  aa  if  the  truthful  practice  of  handicrafts  could  far  ad> 
iranoe  the  cause  of  truth,  but  because  I  would  fain  see  the  handi- 
crafts  themselves  urged  by  the  spurs  of  chivali^:  and  it  is,  indeed, 
marvellous  to  see  what  power  and  universality  there  is  in  this  single 
principle,  and  how  in  the  consulting  or  forraetting  of  it  lies  half 
the  di/  .  7  «r  ctedine  of  every  art  rad  act  m  man. 

OOD  OBEDIENT  TO  HIS  OWN  LAWS. 

Xlll.  Divine  Wisdom  is,  and  can  be  shown  to  us  only  in  its  meet* 
ing  and  contending  with  the  difficulties  which  are  voluntarily,  and 
for  the  M^t  of  that  contest,  admitted  by  the  Divine  Omnipotence; 
and  these  fficulties,  observe,  occur  in  the  form  of  natural  laws  or 
ordinanct  which  might,  at  many  times  and  in  countless  ways,  be 
inftinged  with  apparent  advantage,  but  which  are  never  infnnged, 
whatew  costly  arrangements  or  adaptations  their  observance  may 
necessitate  for  the  accomplishment  of  given  purposes.  The  exam- 
pie  most  apposite  to  our  present  subject  is  the  structure  of  the  bones 
of  animais.  No  reason  can  be  given,  I  believe,  why  the  system  of 
the  higher  animals  should  not  have  been  made  capable,  as  that  of  the 
Infusoria  is,  of  secreting  flint,  instead  of  phosphate  of  lime,  or  more 
naturally  still,  carbon;  so  framing  the  bones  of  adamant  at  once. 
The  elephant  or  rhinoceros  had  the  earthy  part  of  their  bones  been 
made  of  diamond,  might  have  been  as  a^e  end  light  as  grasshop- 
pers, and  other  animals  might  have  been  framed  far  more  mag- 
nificently colossal  than  any  that  walk  the  earth.  In  other  worlds  we 
may,  perhaps,  see  such  creations;  a  creation  lor  every  element,  and 
elements  infinite.  But  the  architecture  of  animals  here,  is  appointed 
by  God  to  be  a  marble  architecture,  not  a  flint  nor  adamant  archi- 
tecture; and  all  manner  of  expedients  are  adopted  to  attain  the 
utmost  degree  of  stiengdi  and  sise  possible  under  that  great  limi- 


KBUQIOVB  UQET  IN  ABCHITECTVRF  ti9 

tation.  The  jaw  of  the  ichthyoaaunu  is  pieced  and  riveted,  the 
leg  of  the  menthtrium  ia  a  foot  thick,  and  the  head  of  the  myodon 
has  a  double  skul'  •  we,  in  our  wisdom,  should,  doubtlesa,  have  given 
the  lizard  a  steel  jdw,  and  the  myodon  a  caat-iron  headpiece,  and 
forgotten  the  great  principle  to  which  all  creation  bears  witness, 
that  order  and  system  are  nobler  things  than  power.  But  God 
ihows  us  in  Himself,  strange  as  it  mav  seem,  not  only  authoritative 

eirfectioD,  bat  even  the  perfection  of  CH>edience — an  obedience  to 
is  own  lawa:  and  in  the  cumbrous  movement  of  those  unwieldiest 
of  His  matures  we  are  reminded,  even  in  His  divine  essence,  of 
that  attribute  of  uprightness  in  the  homtn  enatun  "that  awnnth 
to  his  own  hurt  and  changeth  not." 


THK  FALL  OF  MBDIEVAL  ABCHITECTURE. 

XXVm.  So  fell  the  great  dynasty  of  medieval  architecture.  It 
was  because  it  had  lost  its  own  strength,  and  disobqred  its  own 
laws— because  ita  order,  and  consistency,  and  organization,  had 
been  broken  through — ^that  it  could  oppose  no  resistance  to  the  rush 
of  overwhelming  innovation.  And  this,  observe,  all  because  it  had 
sacrificed  a  single  truth.  From  that  one  surrender  of  its  integrity, 
from  that  one  endeavor  to  assume  the  semblance  of  what  it  was 
not,  arose  the  multitudinous  forms  of  disease  and  decrepitude,  which 
rotted  awey  the  pillars  of  its  supremacy.  It  was  not  because  its 
time  was  come;  it  was  not  because  it  was  scorned  by  the 
classical  Romanist,  or  dreaded  by  the  faithful  Protestant.  That 
aoom  and  that  fear  it  might  have  survived,  and  lived ;  it  would  have 
stood  forth  in  stern  comparison  with  the  enervated  sensuality  of  the 
renaissance ;  it  would  have  risen  in  renewed  and  purified  honor,  and 
with  a  new  soul,  from  the  ashes  into  which  it  sank,  giving  up  its 
glory,  as  it  had  received  it,  for  the  honor  of  Qod — ^but  Its  own  truth 
was  gone,  and  it  sank  forever.  There  was  no  wisdom  nor  strength 
left  m  it,  to  raise  it  from  the  dust;  and  the  error  of  zeal,  and  the 
softness  of  luxury  smote  it  down  and  dissolved  it  away.  It  is  good 
ft  r  us  to  remember  this,  as  we  tread  upon  the  bare  ground  of  its 
foundations,  and  stumble  over  its  scattered  stones.  Those  rent 
skeletons  of  pierced  wall,  through  which  our  sea-Mrinds  moan  and 
murmur,  rtKrwin|[  them  joint  by  joint,  and  bone  by  bone,  al<Hie  the 
bleak  promontones  on  which  the  Pharos  lights  came  once  from 
bouses  of  prayer — those  grey  arches'  and  quiet  isles  under  which 
the  sheep  of  our  valleys  feed  and  rest  on  the  turf  that  has  buried 
their  altars — those  shapeless  heaps,  that  are  not  of  the  Earth,  which 
lift  our  fields  into  strange  and  sudden  banks  of  flowers,  and  stay 
our  mountain  streams  with  stones  that  are  not  their  own,  have  other 
thoughts  to  ask  from  us  than  those  of  mourning  for  the  rage  that  de- 
spoiled, or  the  fear  that  forsook  them.  It  was  not  the  robber,  not  the 
fanatic,  not  the  blasi^Mmer,  who  sealed  the  destruction  that  they 


MO  THS  BSUQION.  OF.  BVSKIN 

had  wrought;  the  war,  the  wrath,  the  terror,  might  have  worked 
their  worst,  and  the  strong  walls  would  have  risen,  and  the  slight 
pillars  would  have  started  again,  from  under  the  hand  of  the  de- 
stroyer. But  they  could  not  riie  out  of  the  ruins  of  thnr  own  vio- 
Utea  troth. 


CHAP.  m.  THE  LAMP  OF  POWER. 

THE  SECRET  OF  SUCCESS. 

IT.  Whatever  is  in  architecture  fair  or  beautiful,  is  imitated  from 
natural  forms ;  and  what  is  not  so  derived,  but  depends  for  its  di» 
nity  upon  arrangement  and  government  received  from  human 
mind,  becomes  the  expression  of  the  power  rtf  Uiat  mind,  and  n- 
ceives  a  sublimity  hia^  in  proportion  to  the  power  expressed.  All 
building,  therefore,  shows  man  either  as  srxthering  or  governing: 
and  the  secrets  of  his  success  are  his  knowing  what  to  gather,  and 
how  to  rule.  These  are  the  two  great  intellectual  Lamps  of  Archi- 
tecture; the  one  consisting  in  a  just  and  humble  veneration  for  the 
works  of  God  upon  the  earth,  and  the  other  in  an  undentanding  of 
the  dominion  over  those  winks  whidi  has  been  Tested  ia  man. 

man's  wobk  with  god  EXALTS  HIM. 

m.  I  have  never  seen  any  aim  at  the  ezpreesion  of  ahetraet 
power;  nevw  any  sppearanoe  of  a  consciousness  that,  in  this  primal 
art  of  man,  there  is  room  for  the  mai*  \ng  of  his  relations  wuh  the 
mightiest,  as  well  as  the  fairest,  works  of  God ;  but  that  those  works 
themselves  have  been  permitted,  by  their  Master  and  his,  to  receive 
an  added  glory  from  their  association  with  earnest  efforts  of  human 
thoudit.  In  the  edifices  of  Man  there  should  be  found  reverent 
worship,  and  following,  not  only  of  the  spirit  whidi  rounds  the 
inUars  of  the  forest,  and  arches  the  vault  of  the  avenue — which 
gives  veining  to  the  leaf,  and  polish  to  the  fhell,  and  grace  to  every 
pulse  that  agitates  animal  organization, — but  of  that  also  which 
reproves  the  pillars  of  the  earth,  and  builds  up  her  barren  precipices 
into  the  coldness  of  the  clouds,  and  lifts  her  shadowy  OODSS  of 
mountain  purple  into  the  pale  arch  of  the  sky. 

NATURE  THE  GREAT  SCHOOL  OV  POWZB. 

An  Architect  should  live  as  little  in  cities  as  a  painter.  Send  him 
to  our  hills,  a  'et  him  study  there  yihst  nature  understancb  by  a 
buttress,  and  r.liat  by  a  dome.  There  was  something  in  the  old 
power  of  architecture,  which  it  had  from  the  recluse  more  than 
from  the  citizen.  The  buildings  of  which  I  have  spoken  with  chief 
praise,  rose,  indeed,  out  of  the  war  of  the  piazza,  and  above  the 
iBiy  d  the  populaoe:  and  Heaven  f<»^  that  for  sndi  cause  wa 


RELIGIOUS  UOHT  IN  ABCHITECTURE  tai 

diould  ever  have  to  lav  a  larger  stone,  or  rivet  a  firmer  bar,  in 
our  England  I  But  we  have  other  sources  of  power,  in  the  imagery 
of  our  iron  coasts  and  azure  h  WU  ;  of  power  more  pure,  nor  less  se- 
rene, than  that  of  the  hermit  .spirit  which  once  lighted  with  whilt 
lines  of  cloisters  the  glades  of  tho  Alpin*  pfaM,  and  raised  into  or* 
dered  spires  the  wild  rot  ks  of  the  M<»nwn  nm:  which  g»Te  to  the 
temple  gate  the  Hepth  and  daricness  of  E3iiah't  Hoieb  cave;  and 
lifted,  out  of  the  populous  city,  grey  cliffs  itf  londy  sloiM,  into  th* 
midit  of  sailing  biros  and  silent  air. 


CHAP.  IV.  THE  LAMP  OP  BEAUTY. 
TYPM  or  BBAtrrr  ur  vatvkm. 

IT.  The  Romanesque  arch  iit  beautiful  as  an  abstract  line.  Its 
type  is  always  before  us  in  that  of  the  apparent  vault  of  heaven, 
and  horizon  of  the  earth.  The  cylindrical  pillar  is  always  beautiful 
for  Goa  has  so  moulded  the  steii<  everv  tree  that  it  is  pleasant  to 
the  eyes.  The  pointed  arch  is  '  a  'nl;  it  is  the  termination  of 
every  leaf  that  shakes  in  summei  .>  1,  and  its  most  fttrtunate  as- 
Bociations  are  directly  borrowed  from  the  trefoiled  grass  of  the  field, 
or  from  the  stars  of  its  dowers.  Further  than  this,  man's  invention 
could  not  reach  without  frank  imitation.  His  next  step  was  to 
gather  the  itomvn  themselvee,  and  wreathe  tbem  in  his  cafatals. 

coincoN  roKMS  rm  most  vaTmui^ 

m.  I  think  I  am  justified  in  considering  those  forms  to  be  iMtt 
natural  which  are  most  frequent;  or,  rather,  that  on  the  shapes 
which  in  the  every-day  world  are  familiar  to  the  eyes  of  men,  God 
has  stamped  thoee  characters  of  beauty  which  He  has  made  it  man's 
lurtm  to  love:  while  in  certain  exceptional  forms  He  has  thawn 
that  the  adoptim  of  the  otLcr.>  was  not  a  matter  of  necessity,  but 
part  of  the  adjusted  harmony  of  creation.  I  believe  that  thus  we 
may  reason  from  Frequency  to  Beauty,  and  vice  versa;  that  knowing 
a  thing  to  be  frequent  we  may  assume  it  to  be  beautiful;  and  as- 
sume that  which  is  mast  frequent  to  be  most  beautiful :  I  mean,  <rf 
couiee,  vitiNM  frequent;  for  the  forms  of  things  which  are  hidden 
in  caverns  ot  the  earth,  or  in  the  anatomy  or  animal  frames,  are 
evidently  not  intended  by  their  Maker  to  bear  the  habitual  gaze  of 
man.  And,  again,  by  frequency  I  mean  that  limited  and  isolated 
frequency  which  is  characteristic  of  all  perfection ;  not  mere  multi- 
tude: as  a  rose  is  a  common  flower,  but  yet  there  are  not  so  many 
roaes  on  the  trees  as  there  are  leaves.  In  tiiis  respect  Nature  is 
paring  of  her  h^est,  and  lavish  of  her  leas,  beauty;  but  I  call 
ue  flower  as  foeqnrat  as  the  leaf,  because,  each  in  its  allotted  quan* 
tity,  idiere  the  <»e  is,  tbm  will  ocdim^  be  ^  othn. 


ass 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 


INSCRIPTIONS  AND  PICTUBW  DT  ftHlimiu— 

IX.  Inscriptions  in  churches,  in  rooms,  and  on  Dictnraa.  arm 
often  desirable,  but  they  ai«  not  to  be  conriSeS  as  SnSSal  « 

t^,ll^?{,^        ""5"*^  '^^^^        intellectual  office  in- 

teoduces  them    Place  them,  therefore,  where  they  wUl  be  read  and 

t1?«f  iil.Thr"'!!^  ^.  to  beauty  to  £u£e 

that  illegible  whose  only  ment  is  m  its  sense.  Write  ii  as  you  woSd 
speak  It,  simply;  and  do  not  draw  the  eye  to  it  when  iT^oSld  fom 
res  elsewhere,  nor  recommend  your  sentence  by  anythbg  but  ^ 
ittle  openn^  of  place  and  architectural  silence  aboJt  it  WritJ 
the  Commandments  on  the  Church  walls  where  they  may  be  Dlainlv 
^n,  but  do  not  put  a  dash  and  a  tail  to  every  lettJ;  aSJ  x^^S 
that  you  are  an  architect,  not  a  writing  master. 

GIOTTO  AS  AN  INSTANCE  OF  NATURE'S  LESSONS. 

,n7i^5-u^  °^  ^"'"an  ""ind  had  its  growth 

L!^\  "V.""^  the  conception  of 

best  a  faded  image  of  God's  daily  work,  and  an  arrested  ray  of 

h  ''f^T'  ^u^'"''^  '^^'^y  ^°  *be  places  which  He  has 
gladdened  by  planting  there  the  fir  tree  and  tL  pine.  Not  withS 
®  T^^^  of  Florence  but  among  the  far  away  ffelds  of  her  S 
Zvp  fL'^'^  trained  who  was  to  raise  that  headstone  of  BeaiTy 
above  the  towers  of  watch  and  war.»  Remember  all  that  he  beTme  • 

ask  those  who  followed  him  what  they  learned  at  his  feef  and 
when  you  have  numbered  his  labors,  a/d  received  their  testimony 
If  It  seem  to  you  that  God  had  verily  poured  out  upon  h™  hS 
servant  no  common  nor  restrained  portion  of  His  Spfrit,  and  that 
fh«t\^«'i!?''*^/  king  among  the  cfiildren  of  men,  «memb«  32 
that  the  legend  upon  his  crown  was  that  of  David's:— "I  took  ihaa 
worn  the  sheepcote,  and  from  following  the  sheep." 

CHAP.  V.  THE  LAilP  OF  urn 

man's  two-fold  NATT7RB. 

m.  When  we  begin  to  be  concerned  with  the  energies  of  man 
rJ''fi?-'T^''''  instantly  dealing  with  a  doaUe  «SSrtare  iSSt 
part  of  his  being  seems  to  have  a  fictitious  oounterpart.  which  it  is 

#Sh  ^  H^^fSS  '  or  a  feigned  or  unfeigned) 

faith.  He  has  a  true  and  a  false  hope,  a  true  and  a  fake  clarity. 

(1).— n«  nimnet  km  k  to  CHeMe. 


1 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE 


*23 


and,  finally,  a  true  and  a  false  life.  His  true  life  is  like  that  of 
lower  organic  beings,  the  independent  force  by  which  he  moulds 

and  governs  external  things ;  it  is  a  force  of  assimilation  which  con- 
verts everything  around  him  into  food,  or  into  instruments;  and 
which,  however  humbly  or  obediently  it  may  listen  to  or  follow 
the  guidance  of  superior  intelligence,  never  forfeits  its  own  author- 
ity as  a  judging  principle,  aa  a  will  capable  either  of  obeying  or 
rebelling.  His  false^  life  is,  indeed,  but  one  of  the  conditions  of 
death  or  stupor,  bat  it  acts,  even  when  it  cannot  be  said  to  animate, 
end  is  not  always  easily  known  from  the  true.  It  is  Uiat  life  of 
custom  and  accident  in  which  many  of  us  pass  much  of  our  time 
in  the  world ;  that  life  in  which  we  do  what  we  have  not  purposed, 
and  speak  what  we  do  not  mean,  and  assent  to  what  we  do  not  un- 
deretand;  tiiat  life  which  is  overlaid  by  the  weight  of  things  external 
to  it,  and  is  moulded  by  them,  instead  of  assimilating  them;  that, 
which  instead  of  growing  and  blossoming  under  any  wholesome 
dew,  is  crystallised  over  with  it,  as  with  hoar  frost,  and  becomes  to 
the  true  life  what  an  arborescence  is  to  a  tree,  a  candied  agglomera- 
tion of  thoughts  and  habits  foreign  to  it,  brittle,  obstinate,  and  icy, 
which  can  neither  bend  nor  grow,  but  must  be  crushed  and  broken 
to  bits,  if  it  stand  in  our  way.  AH  men  are  liable  to  be  in  some 
degree  frost-bitten  in  this  sort;  all  are  partly  encumbered  and 
crusted  over  with  idle  matter;  only,  if  they  have  nal  life  in  them, 
they  are  always  breaking  this  bark  away  in  noble  rents,  until  it 
becomes,  like  the  black  strips  upon  the  birch  tree,  only  a  witness 
of  their  own  inward  strength.   But,  with  all  the  efiforts  that  the 


which  they  indeed  move,  and  play  their  parts  suffidently,  to  the 
eyes  of  their  fellow-dieamen,  out  have  no  dear  consdoosness  of 
what  is  around  them,  or  witmn  them ;  blind  to  the  one,  insensible 
to  the  other,  mtifuu 


XXIV.  We  are  not  sent  into  this  world  to  do  any  thing  into 
which  we  cannot  put  our  hearts.  We  have  certain  work  todo  for 
our  bread,  and  that  is  to  be  done  strenuously ;  other  work  to  do  for 
our  delight,  and  that  is  to  be  done  heartily:  neither  is  to  be  done 
by  halves  or  shifts,  but  with  a  will ;  and  what  is  not  worth  this  effort 
is  not  to  be  done  at  aU.  Perh^M  all  that  we  have  to  do  is  meant  for 
nothin||  more  than  an  eirardse  of  the  heart  and  of  the  will,  and  ia 
useless  in  itself ;  but,  at  all  events,  the  little  use  it  has  may  well  be 
spared  if  it  is  not  worth  putting  our  hands  and  our  strength  to.  It 
does  not  become  our  immortality  to  take  an  ease  inconsistent  with 
its  authority,  nor  to  suffer  any  mstruments  with  which  it  can  dis- 
pense, to  come  between  it  and  the  things  it  rules :  and  he  who  would 
form  the  oeatioiu  of  his  own  mind  by  any  other  instrument  than 


best  men  make,  much  of  their  being 


kind  of  dream,  in 


WOBK  WITH  TOUB  HBABT  7X  IV. 


a»4  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

his  own  hand,  would,  also,  if  he  might,  dve  mnding  otsans  to 
Heaven  s  angels,  to  make  their  music  easrar.  lliereM  dreaming 
OBOOgh,  and  earthineas  enough,  and  sensuality  enoa|^  in  human 
existence  without  our  turning  the  few  glowing  moments  of  it  into 
mechanism;  and  since  our  life  must  at  the  best  be  but  a  vapor  that 
appears  for  a  little  time  and  then  vanishes  away,  let  it  at  kast  ap- 
pear as  a  cloud  in  the  height  of  Heaven,  not  as  the  thick  darknea 
that  broods  over  the  blast  of  the  Furnace,  and  rollii^  of  the  WheeL 


CHAP.  VI.   THE  LAMP  OP  MEMORY. 

MEMORY  IN  ABCHITBCTUBB. 

II.  We  may  live  without  her,  and  worship  without  her,  but  we 
cannot  remember  without  her.  How  cold  is  all  history  how  lifeless 
au  imagery,  compared  to  that  which  the  living  nation  writes,  and 
tbe  uncorrupted  marble  bears!  how  many  pages  of  doubtful  record 
might  we  not  oft...  spare,  for  a  few  stones  left  one  upon  another! 
The  ambition  of  the  old  Babel  builders  was  well  diracted  for  this 
world:  there  are  but  two  strong  conquerors  of  the  foreetfulness  of 
men  Poetry  and  Architecture;  and  the  latter  in  some  sort  includes 
the  former,  and  is  mightier  in  its  reality;  it  is  well  to  have,  not 
only  what  men  have  thought  and  felt,  but  what  their  hands 
have  handled,  and  their  stmngth  wrought,  and  their  eyes  beheld, 
all  the  days  of  their  life.  The  age  of  Homer  is  surrounded  witli 
darkness,  his  very  personality  with  doubt.-  Not  so  that  of  Peridea* 
and  the  day  is  coming  when  we  shall  confess,  that  we  have  learned 
more  of  Greece  out  of  the  crumbled  fragments  of  her  •colptore  than 
even  from  her  sweet  singers  or  soldier  liistorians. 

OOOD  MEK  AND  THEIB  HOMES. 

m.  There  is  a  sanctity  in  a  good  man's  house  which  cannot  be 
renewed  m  every  tenement  that  rises  on  its  ruins:  and  I  believe 
Jb^at  good  men  would  generally  feel  this;  and  that  having  spent 
their  lives  happily  and  honorably,  they  would  be  grieved  at  the 
close  of  them  to  think  that  the  place  of  their  earthly  abode,  which 
had  seen,  and  seemed  almost  to  sympathise  in  all  their  honor,  their 
gladness,  or  their  suffering,— that  this,  with  all  the  record  it  bare 
<tf  them,  and  dl  of  material  things  that  they  had  loved  and  ruled 
over,  and  set  the  stamp  of  themselves  upon— was  to  be  swept  away 
as  soon  as  there  was  room  made  for  them  in  the  grave;  that  no  re^ 
epect  was  to  be  shown  to  it,  no  affection  felt  for  it,  no  good  to  be 
drawn  from  it  by  their  children;  that  though  there  was  a  mmiu- 
ment  m  the  church,  there  was  no  warm  monument  in  ihi  heart  and 
house  to  them;  that  all  that  thqr  ever  treasured  waa  deqnaed,  an) 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  »»$ 

tiie  places  that  had  sheltered  and  comforted  them  were  dragged 
down  to  the  dust  I  say  that  a  good  man  would  fear  this;  and  that, 
far  more,  a  good  son,  a  noble  descendant,  would  fear  doing  it  to 
his  fathers  house.  J  say  that  if  men  lived  like  men  indeed!  their 
houses  would  be  temples— temples  which  we  should  hardly  dare  to 
umre,  and  in  which  it  would  make  us  holy  to  be  permitted  to  live- 
and  there  must  be  a  strange  dissolution  of  natnral  affection  a 
strange  unthankfulness  for  all  that  homes  have  given  and  parents 
taught,^  a  strange  consciousness  that  we  have  been  unfaithful  to  our 
fathers  honor,  or  that  our  own  lives  are  not  such  as  would  make 
our  dwellings  sacred  to  our  children,  when  each  man  would  fain 
build  to  hunself,  and  build  for  tlM  little  rcvoliitum  <tf  bk  own 
life  only. 

OOD  IN  THE  HOME. 

*u^il  do  not  love  their  hearths,  nor  reverence  their 

thresholds,  it  is  a  sien  that  they  have  dishonored  both,  and  that  they 
bave  never  a^nowledged  the  true  universality  of  that  Christian 
worship  which  was  indeed  to  supersed  the  idolatry,  but  not  the 
piety,  of  the  pagan.  Our  God  is  a  household  God,  as  well  as  a  heav- 
enly one;  He  has  an  altar  m  every  man's  dwelling;  let  men  look 
to  It  when  they  rend  it  lightly  and  pour  out  its  ashes.  It  is  not  a 
quration  of  mere  ocular  delight,  it  is  no  question  of  inteUectual 
pride,  or  of  cultivated  and  critical  fancy,  how,  and  with  what  aspect 
of  durability  and  of  completeness,  the  domestic  buildiniis  of  a 
nation  shall  be  raised.  e°  • 

BETTKB  BOVtn  VOt  UMH  AMD  WOMIir. 

It  would  be  better  if,  in  every  possible  instance,  men  built  their 
own  bouses  on  a  scale  commensurate  rather  with  their  condition  at 
the  commencement,  than  their  attainments  at  the  termination,  of 
their  worldly  career;  and  built  them  to  stand  as  long  as  human 
work  at  its  strongest  can  be  hoped  to  stand;  recording  to  their  chil- 
dren  what  they  have  been,  and  from  what,  if  so  it  had  been  permit- 
ted them,  they  had  risen.  And  idien  houses  are  thus  built,  we  may 
liave  t^t  teue  domestic  architecture,  the  beginning  of  all  other 
which  does  not  disdain  to  treat  with  respect  and  thoughtfulness  the 
small  habitation  as  well  as  the  large,  and  which  invests  with 
dignity  of  contented  manhood  the  narrowness  of  worldly  cireom* 


DUTY  TO  COMINQ  QEKBSATIOira. 

TX.  The  idea  of  self-denial  for  the  sake  of  posterity,  of  practising 
present  economy  for  the  sake  of  debtors  yet  unborn,  of  planting 
forests  that  our  descendants  mav  live  under  their  shade,  or  of  rai^ 
ing  cities  for  futwe  nations  to  inhabit,  never,  I  suppose,  efficiently 
takes  pkce  anuHig  pabMj  noognfaed  motivMi  of  eierticm. 


 a: 


aa6  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

these  are  not  the  less  our  duties;  nor  is  our  part  fitly  sustained  upon 
the  earth,  unless  the  range  of  our  intended  and  deliberate  nawol- 
ness  include  not  only  the  companioiUL  but  the  suoceaaon^  of  our 
pilgrimage.  God  has  lent  us  the  earth  for  our  life;  it  ts  a  great 
entail.  It  belongs  as  much  to  those  who  are  to  come  after  us,  and 
whose  names  are  already  written  in  the  book  of  creation,  as  to  us; 
and  we  have  no  right,  by  anything  that  we  do  or  neglect,  to  involve 
them  in  unnecessary  penalties,  or  deprive  them  of  Iwnefits  which  it 
was  in  our  power  to  bequeath.  .  .  .  Men  cannot  benefit  those 
that  are  with  them  as  they  can  benefit  those  who  come  after  them; 
and  of  all  the  pulpits  from  which  human  voice  is  ever  sent  forth, 
there  is  none  tKoa  which  it  reaches  so  far  as  fnnn  the  grave. 

THE  QLOBY  OV  A  BXTILDINO. 

X.  Nor  is  there,  indeed,  any  present  loss,  in  such  respect,  for  fu- 
turity.  Every  human  action  gains  in  honor,  in  grace,  in  all  true 
magnificence,  by  its  regard  to  things  that  are  to  come.   It  is  the  far 
sight,  the  quiet  and  confident  patience,  that,  above  all  other  attri- 
butes, separate  man  from  man,  and  near  him  to  his  Maker;  and 
there  is  no  action  nor  art,  whose  majesty  we  may  not  measure  by 
this  test.  Therefore,  when  we  build,  let  us  think  that  we  build  for 
ever.   Let  it  not  be  for  present  delight,  nor  for  present  use  alone; 
let  it  be  such  work  as  our  descendants  will  thank  us  for,  and  let  us 
think,  as  we  lay  stone  on  stone,  that  a  time  is  to  come  when  those 
stones  will  be  held  sacred  because  our  hands  have  touched  them, 
and  that  men  will  say  as  they  look  upon  the  labor  and  wrought 
substance  of  them,  "Seel  this  our  fathers  did  for  us."  For,  indeed, 
the  greatest  f^ory  of  a  building  is  not  in  its  stones,  or  in  its  gold. 
Its  glory  is  m  its  Age,  and  in  that  deep  sense  of  voicefulness,  of 
stem  watching,  of  mysterious  sympathy,  nay,  even  of  approval  or 
condemnation,  which  we  feel  in  walls  that  have  lone  been  washed 
by  the  passing  waves  of  humanity.   It  is  in  their  lasting  witness  ' 
against  men,  in  their  quiet  contrast  with  the  transitional  character 
of  all  things,  in  the  strength  which,  through  the  lapse  of  seasons 
and  times,  and  the  decline  and  birth  of  dynasties,  and  the  chang- 
ing of  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  limits  of  the  sea,  maintains 
its  sculptured  shapeliness  for  a  time  insuperable,  connects  forgotten 
and  following  ages  with  each  other,  and  half  constitutes  the  iden- 
tity, as  it  concentrates  the  sympathy,  of  nations;  it  is  in  that  golden 
stain  of  time,  that  we  are  to  look  for  the  real  light,  and  color,  and 
preciousness  of  architecture;  and  it  is  not  until  a  building  has  as- 
sumed this  character,  till  it  baa  been  entrusted  with  the  fame,  and 
hallowed  by  the  deeds  of  men,  till  its  walls  have  been  witnesses  of 
suffering,  and  its  pillars  rise  out  of  the  shadows  of  drath,  that  its 
sxistence.  mora  lasting  as  it  is  than  that  of  tiie  natural  objects  (rf 
the  xf03t]A  KNmnd  it,  can  be  gifted  with  even  so  mmh  as  these  po3- 
Msi  uf  Itngoags  mi  <tf  life. 


BBUQ10V8  LIQHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE 
CHAP.  VII.  THE  LAMP  OP  OBEDIENCB. 


WHAT  MEN  CALL  LIBBBTY. 

k  J**^^  endeavor  to  show  how  every  form  of  noM« 

architecture  la  m  some  sort  the  embodiment  of  thn^niuT^rv 
toj,  and  Religious  Faith  of  natrnr'Sor  twice  ij'*^^^^^^^ 
have  named  a  ptmciple  to  which  I  would  now  assign  a  de^iV  nlace 
among  those jAidi  direct  that  embodiment;  the  iS  SlaS  iot  oS? 

SnSnlV  ^♦^•'"^K^^        ^""''•'^y  incline,  but  mAe^  aa  S 

longing  to  It  in  the  aspect  of  the  crowning  grace  of  all  thei^t"tW 

ness,  Faith  its  acceptance,  CreaUon  its  continuanc^  -Obedience 

whlh  I  W  for/™"?i?  "^^."^  '""^  serious  SacSon 
jMSto^MiX/^^  PH"""'*  ?  ^"bj^^t  that  at  first  ap- 
EfmnditT^  ^  °°       ^""^^^  '"^^ests  of  mankind,  thS 

the  conditions  of  material  perfection  which  it  leads  me  in  eon. 
elusion  to  consider,  furnish  a  stranire  proof  how  falLTthe  SJl 
ception  how  frantic  the  pursuit,  of  that  treacherous  phan?omth?3i 
th.  flhLV^'''*yv"^'^*  treacherous,  indeed,  of  all  phanJomrfOT 
the  feeblest  ray  of  reason  might  surely  sho^  us.  that  not  only  ite 
attainment,  but  itsbeing,  was  impossible.  Ther^  is  no  such  tL^? 
^£U°iT"*;  P""  r  The  stars  have  t  ; 

J^i  *  men  have  the  mo^ 

and  lemblance  of  it  only  for  our  heaviest  punishment. 

LAW  GREATER  THAN  LIBERTY. 

inl^^hfrS^L^°^^^FV'  ™"8ic  belong. 

Jhf  „,nSt  7-  °^  our  literature,  the  writer  has  sought  in 

the  aspect  of  inanimate  nature  the  expression  of  that  Liberty  SnidT 
having  once  loved,  he  had  seen  among  men  in  its  tnie  Wof  SS^ 

one  noble  linfnft'*-'*™"^  ^'^k  °'  i^terpretatiSfsincT  ki 
tXs  of  thi  ^'a  '"r^^oo  J»5  V  contradicted  the  assump. 
in~?„  Ir?  and  acknowledged  the  presence  of  a  subjection! 
ITrl^if^fi  eternal?   Sow  could  he  otherwS 

f^^  bv  «v«r^.  H P"°''P^'  another^: 
fessed  by  every  utterance,  or  more  sternly  than  another  imorinted 
on^every  atom,  of  th.  irisibfe  emtkm.  tlJt  prindple  k  nribeiJ^ 

VALUE  OF  BTOTRAINTS— LIBERTY  AND  OBBOnrCa. 

If  bv  '^l  T  misunderstood  word? 

£e  fnSte?  ^?K-J2?*°  cWtisement  of  the  passions,  discipline  of 
WW  intellect,  subjection  of  the  wUl;  if  you  mean  the  fear  of  in- 


•tt  THE  REUaiON  OF  RV8KI:! 

flictins,  the  shame  of  committing  a  wrong  ^  >!  yon  n;oan  respect 
for  all  who  are  in  authority,  and  consideration  for  all  who  are  in 
dependence;  veneration  for  uie  good,  mercy  to  the  evil,  svmpathy 
with  the  weak;  if  you  mean  watchfulneaa  over  all  thoughts,  tem- 
perance in  'all  pleasures,  and  perseverance  in  all  toils;  if  vou  mean, 
m  a  word,  that  Service  which  is  defined  in  the  liturgy  of  the  Eng- 
lish church  to  be  perfect  Freedom,  why  do  you  name  this  by  the 
same  word  by  which  the  luxurious  mean  license,  and  the  reckless 
mean  change ;  by  which  the  rogue  means  rapine,  and  the  fool  equal- 
ity, by  which  the  proud  mean  anarchy,  and  the  malignant  mean 
violence?  Call  it  by  any  name  rather  than  this,  but  its  best  and 
truest  is.  Obedience.  Obedience  is,  indeed,  founded  on  a  kind  of 
freedom,  else  it  would  become  mere  subjugation,  but  that  free- 
dom is  only  granted  that  obedience  may  be  more  perfect ;  and  thus, 
while  a  measure  of  licence  is  necessary  to  exhibit  the  individual 
energies  of  thin^,  the  fairness  and  pleasantness  and  perfection  of 
them  all  consist  in  their  Restraint.  Compare  a  river  that  has  burst 
its  banks  with  one  that  is  bound  by  them,  and  the  clouds  that  are 
scattered  over  the  face  of  the  whole  heaven  with  those  that  ai» 
marshalled  into  ranks  and  orders  by  its  winds.  So  that  though 
restraint,  utter  and  unrelaxing,  can  never  be  comely,  this  is  not 
because  it  is  in  itself  an  evil,  but  only  because,  when  too  great,  it 
overpowers  the  nature  of  the  thing  restrained,  and  so  counteracts 
the  other  laws  of  which  that  nature  is  itself  composed.  And  the 
balance  wherein  consists  the  fairness  of  creation  is  between  the  laws 
of  life  and  being  in  the  things  governed  and  the  laws  of  general 
sway  to  which  they  are  subjectea;  and  the  siispension  or  infringe- 
ment of  either  kind  of  law,  or,  literally,  disorder,  is  equivalent 
to,  and  synonymous  with,  disease ;  while  the  increase  of  both  honor . 
and  beauty  is  habitually  on  the  side  of  restraint  (or  the  action  of 
superior  law)  rather  than  of  character  (or  the  action  of  inherent 
law).  The  noblest  word  in  the  catalogue  of  social  virtue  is  "Loy- 
•Ity,"  and  the  sweetest  which  mm  have  learned  in  the  pastnm  of 
the  wildemoH  ii  "Fold." 

OBIIAT  BODISB  OBBY  LAW. 

in.  Nor  is  this  all;  but  we  may  observe,  that  exactlv  in  propor- 
tion to  the  majesty  of  things  in  the  scale  of  being,  is  tne  complete- 
ness of  their  obedience  to  the  laws  that  are  set  over  them.  Gravita* 
tion  is  less  quietlv,  less  instantly  obeyed  bv  a  grain  of  dust  than  it 
is  by  the  sun  and  moon ;  and  the  ocean  falls  and  flows  under  influ- 
ences whidi  the  lake  and  river  do  not  recop^iize-  So  also  in  estimat- 
ing the  dignity  of  any  action  or  occupation  of  men,_  there  is  per- 
haps no  better  test  than  the  question  "are  its  laws  strait?"  For  their 
severity  will  probably  be  commensurate  with  the  greatness  of  the 
nnmbm  whose  kbor  it  e«ieniti«t«s  or  lAum  iirtmrt  it  omoonk 


BMJOIOVS  UOHT  IN  ASOHITEOTVRE 

9mfn  WATi  OF  WOBDKO  AVD  UAH's  VKMD  Of  WOBK. 


»«9 


"^^  ^istwi^  "nd  tumult  whidi  oppic«  til* 

through  which  God  la  working  out  Ka  wfll  upon  them,  to  the  sim- 
p  e  one  of  their  not  having  enough  to  do.  fjm  norkind  to  the 
distress  among  their  operatives;  nor  do  I  deny  the  nearer  and  vS- 

S/i3J' 'n^'  the  recklLness  of  4ainy^ 

the  leaders  of  revolt,  the  absence  of  common  moral  principli  £ 
the  upper  classes,  and  of  common  courage  and  honesty  in  the  hLdi 

Jhi  im.^„^!f^'  w*l«B»«  of  the  demagogue, 

the  immorahtv  of  the  middle  class,  and  the  effeminacy  and  treSch' 

uL^r«?^?^  '™'u"^  °^  calamity  in  households-idleness. 

'«v?.rl  •  *?°  "i!"*^^  '°  benevolent  efforts,  more  multiplied  and 
more  vam  day  by  day,  of  bettering  men  by  giving  them  advice  and 
mstruction.  There  are  few  who  wiU  take  iithef:  the  cWefllSg 
they  need  is  occupation.  I  do  not  meen  work  in  the  sense  of  bread! 

'"iu^  "2*?*^"^  fo'"  those  who  either 

S  Sn^out'''*  f  their  bread,  or  who  will 

not  work  although  they  should.  .  .  .  There  are  multitudes  of 
Wle  semi-gentlemen  who  ought  to  be  shoemakers  and  carpenten- 
but  smce  they  will  not  be  these  so  long  as  they  can  help  it.  the 
businras  of  the  philanthropist  is  to  find  them  aome  other  employ- 
ment than  disturbmg  governments.  It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  them  they 
are  fools,  and  that  they  inU  only  make  themselves  miserable  in  the 
end  as  well  aa  othem:  if  ttiey  have  nothing  else  to  do,  they  will  do 
miachief;  and  the  man  who  will  not  work,  and  who  has  no  means 
2  w  iS*^^  as^!f»w  to  become  an  instrument  of  evil 


Ill 


THE  STONES  OF  VENICE. 
Thmse  Vom.  (1861-1853.) 

Vol.  I.     The  Foundations. 
Vol.  II.   The  Sea  Stobob. 
Vol.  m.  The  Fall. 

"The  Stones  of  Venice,"  consisting  of  three  large  volumes  of 
nearly  four  hundred  pages  each,  is  a  veritable  mine  of  wealth  on 
the  subject  of  Architecture.  From  the  time  when,  at  sixteen,  Ros* 
kin  first  visited  Venice,  that  ancient  city  furnished  him  with  sug- 
gestion and  illustration  of  his  favorite  theme.  So  that  here  we  have 
one  work,  st  Iraat,  of  our  Author  which  hean  a  fitting  end  easily 
explained  title.  The  whole  work  abounds  in  felicitous  passages  oi 
moral  and  religious  value.  In  making  the  following  selections,  w« 
are  inviting  the  lover  of  the  beautiful  and  true,  to  possess  them- 
selves  of  the  whole  work,  and  this  invitation  should  find  especial  in- 
terest to  the  student  of  architecture,  for  here,  aa  the  auUior  says, 
are  "taught  the  laws  of  constructive  art  and  Uie  dependence  of  all 
human  work  or  edifice,  for  its  beanty,  on  the  hi^y  life  of  the 
workman."* 

THE  STONES  OF  VENICE.  VOL.  I. 

WHY  KATION8  VALlI 

Vn.  Throughout  her  career,  the  victories  of  Venice,  and,  at 
many  periods  of  it,  her  safety,  were  purchased  by  individual  hero- 
ism; and  the  man  who  exalted  or  saved  her  was  sometimes  (often- 
est)  her  king,  sometimes  a  noble,  sometimes  a  citiien.  To  h'm  no 
matter,  nor  to  her:  the  real  question  is,  not  so  much  what  names 
they  bore,  or  with  what  powers  they  were  entrusted,  as  how  they 
were  trained;  how  they  were  made  masters  of  themselves,  servants 
of  their  country,  patient  of  distress,  impatient  of  d'shonor;  and 
what  was  the  true  reason  of  the  change  from  the  time  when  she 

iron  ClaTicen.  Letter  78. 


BMIQWV8  UQBT  IN  ABCmTEOTVBM  tgi 

could  find  saviouw  among  those  whom  she  had  cast  into  prison,  to 
that  when  the  voices  of  her  own  children  commanded  her  to  nan 
eovenant  with  Death.— CA.  /.  "~  «w  w  ngn 

VIII  The  evidence  whidi  I  ahaU  be  able  to  deduce  from  the 
arts  of  Venice  will  be  both  frequent  and  irrefragable,  that  the  de- 
chne  of  her  pohtieal  prosperity  was  exactly  «nfi».witnt  with  that 
of  domertie  and  individual  religion.— CA.  i.    '^^"^  ^ 

COSRUFTION  A8  tSKMS  TK  AST. 

Of  the  corrupted  pap«7  um  two  sreat  divisions 

i  jvln^a^j'  Rationalists 
S«  nfh«  uL^iSllS^  onerequinng  the  puriffcation  of  religion, 
^        *t  The  Protestant  kept  the  religion,  but 

«st  aside  the  heresies  of  Rome,  and  with  them  her  arts.  By  which 
last  rejection  he  mjured  his  own  character,  cramped  his  inteUeot 

^c-l^f  fhf  St**-  ^  *  "^^'^  'i""^"  how  far  tie  Pat* 

%u  J«  .I^fof'na***"'  *  consequence  of  this  error. 

iS^!°°2h*  the  arti  and  cast  aside  the  religion.  Thia 
rationalj»tic  art  la  the  art  commonly  called  Renaissance,  marked 
fj,  pJt£™  •?  P^g"*  systems,  not  to  adopt  them  and  hallow  them 
for  Chn8^^.anity,  but  to  rank  itself  under  them  as  an  imitator  and 
pupil. — Un.  I. 

a   J  degradation  followed  in  every  direction.— a 

flood  of  folly  and  hvpocrisy.  Mythologies  ill  and^stood  at  first, 
then  perverted  into  feeble  sensualities,  take  the  place  of  the  repre^ 
sentationa  of  Chnatian  subjects,  which  had  become  blasphemous  \m. 
der  the  teeatment  of  men  like  the  Caracci.  Gods  without  power, 
wtyrs  without  rusticity,  nymphs  without  innocence,  men  without 
humanity,  gather  into  idiot  groups  upon  the  poUated  canvas  and 
scenic  affectations  encumber  the  streets  with  preposterous  marble 
Lower  and  lower  dechnes  th.  level  of  abused  intellect;  the  base 
school  of  landscape  gradually  usurps  the  place  of  the  historical 
painting,  whi<^  had  sank  mto  purient  pedantry,— the  Alsatian 
sublimities  of  Salvator,  the  confectionery  idealities  of  Claude,  the 
dull  manufacture  of  Caspar  and  Canaletto,  south  of  the  Alps,  and 
on  the  north  the  patient  devotion  of  besotted  lives  to  delineation  of 
bricks  and  fogs,  fat  cattle  and  diteh-water.  And  thus  Christianity 
and  morality,  courage,  and  intellect,  and  art  aU  crumbling  toeethw 
mto  pnewreck,  we  are  hurried  on  to  the  fall  of  Italy,  the  revoln. 
»wn  in  Ftanoe,  and  tiie  condition  of  art  in  En^and.— CA.  /. 

MOBAL  VIBTUE8  OP  BUILDINa, 

1.  In  the  main,  we  require  from  buildings,  as  from  men.  two 
kind,  of  goodness:  fint,      ^  their  pnSml  doty  i3tt:  thS 


13*  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

that  they  be  graceful  and  pktsiog  in  doing  it;  wbieh  last  it  Hmd 

another  form  of  duty. 

Then  the  practical  duty  divides  itself  into  two  branches,— -acting 
and  talking : — acting,  as  to  defend  us  from  weather  or  violence ; 
talking,  as  the  duty  of  monuments  or  tombs,  to  record  facts  and 
express  feelings;  or  of  churches,  temples,  public  edifices,  treated  as 
booln  of  history,  to  tell  such  history  clearly  and  forcibly. 

We  have  thus,  altogether,  three  great  branches  of  architectural 
virtue,  and  we  require  of  any  building, — 

1.  That  it  act  well,  and  do  the  things  it  was  intended  to  do  in 
the  best  way. 

2.  That  it  speak  well,  and  say  tha  things  it  was  intended  to  ai^ 
in  the  best  words. 

8.  That  it  look  well,  and  please  as  Iqr  its  presanos,  wbaUnv 
it  has  to  ^  or  say.  -Ch.  II. 

DIVINX  AKD  BtTHAK  ASCHTTECTUBE. 

IV.  We  have  a  worthier  way  of  looking  at  human  than  at  di- 
vine ardiitecture:  much  of  the  value  both  of  construction  and  dec- 
oration, in  the  edifices  of  men,  depends  upon  our  being  led  by  the 
thing  produced  or  adorned,  to  some  contemplation  of  the  powers  of 
mind  concerned  in  its  creation  or  adornment.  We  are  not  so  led 
by  divine  work,  but  are  content  to  rest  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
thing  created.  We  take  pleasure,  or  ahould  take  pleasure,  in  archi- 
tectural construction  altogether  as  the  manifestation  of  an  admir- 
able human  intelligence;  it  is  not  the  strength,  not  the  aii^  not 
the  finish  of  the  work  which  we  are  to  venerate:  rocks  are  always 
stronger,  mountains  always  larger,  all  natural  objects  more  finished; 
but  it  is  the  intelligence  and  resolution  of  man  in  overcoming 
physicd  difficulty  which  are  to  be  the  source  of  our  pleasure  and 
subject  of  our  praise.  And  again,  in  decoration  or  beauty,  it  is 
less  the  actual  loveliness  of  the  thing  produced,  than  the  choice 
and  invention  concerned  in  the  production,  which  are  to  delight 
us;  the  love  and  the  thoughts  of  the  workman  more  than  his  work; 
his  work  must  always  be  imperfect,  but  hia  thoughts  and  affections 
may  be  true  and  deq>. — Ch.  ll. 

BPIMTUAL  KKKOBLXHENT. 

X.  Ail  the  divisions  of  humanity  are  noble  or  brutal,  immortal 
or  mortal,  according  to  the  degree  of  their  sanctification :  and  there 
is  no  part  of  the  man  which  is  not  immortal  and  divine  when  it 
is  once  given  to  God.  and  no  part  of  him  which  is  not  mortal  by  the 
second  death,  and  brutal  before  the  first,  when  it  is  withdrawn  from 
God.  For  to  what  shall  we  trust  for  our  distinction  from  the  beasts 
that  perish?  To  our  higjher  intellect? — ^yet  are  we  not  bidden  to  be 
wise  as  the  serpen^  and  to  consider  the  mja  of  the  ant?— or  to  our 


RELIGIOUS  UQHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE 


•ffMtioos?  nay;  these  are  mm  ihand  by  the  lower  animals  than 
oar  tnteUigBnce.  Hamlet  leaps  into  the  grave  of  his  beloved,  and 
leaves  it, — a  dog  had  stayed.  Humanity  and  immortality  consist 
neither  in  reason,  nor  in  love;  nit  in  the  body,  nor  in  the  animation 
of  the  heart  of  it,  nor  in  the  thoughts  and  stirrings  of  the  brain  of 
it, — but  in  the  dedication  of  them  all  to  Hiin  wiiO  will  laiie  them 
tip  at  the  kit  dajd— C*.  //. 

THX  JOY  OF  OIVINO  MONKY. 

Hdf  Uie  evil  in  this  world  comes  from  people  not  knowing 
•n«y  do  hke,  not  deliberately  setting  themselves  to  find  out 
what  they  reallv  enjoy.  All  people  enjoy  giving  away  money,  for 
instance:  ttey  don't  know  that,— they  rather  think  they  like  keep- 
ing It;  and  they  do  keep  it  under  this  false  impression,  often  to 
theur  great  discomfort.  Every  body  likes  to  do  good;  but  not  one 
in  a  hundred  finds  this  out.  Multitudes  think  they  like  to  do 
jTi^^^  BO  nan  mr  really  enjoyed  doing  evil  nnoe  uod  made  the 

THE  ENCHANTMENT  OF  DISTANCE. 

XVn.  Are  not  all  natural  things,  it  may  be  asked,  as  lovely 
near  as  far  away?  Nay,  not  so.  Look  at  the  clouds,  and  wateh 
the  delicate  sculpture  of  their  alabaster  sides,  and  the  rounded  liM» 
ire  of  their  magnificent  rolling.  They  are  meant  to  be  beheld  far 
away;  they  were  shaped  for  their  place,  high  above  your  head;  ap- 
proach them,  and  they  fuse  into  vague  mists,  or  whirl  away  m 
fiaroa  fraements  of  thunderous  vapor.  Look  at  the  crest  of  the  Alp, 
from  the  far-away  plains  over  %yhich  its  light  is  cast,  whence  human 
souls  have  communion  with  it  by  their  myriads.  The  child  looks 
to  It  in  the  dawn,  and  the  husbandman  in  the  burden  and  heat 
of  the  day,  and  the  old  man  in  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  and  it 
M  to  them  dl  as  the  celestial  city  on  ttie  world's  horizon ;  dyed  with 
the  depth  of  heaven,  and  dothed  with  the  calm  of  eternity.  There 
was  it  set,  for  holy  dominion,  by  iiiui  who  marked  for  the  sun  his 
journey,  and  bade  the  moon  know  her  going  down.  It  was  built 
for  Its  place  in  the  far-off  sky;  approach  it,  and  as  the  sound  of  the 
voice  of  man  dies  away  about  its  foundations,  and  the  tide  ci  human 
lifo  shallow !  I  pon  the  vast  aerial,  is  at  last  met  oy  the  Eternal 
Here  shall  .x..  waves  be  stayed,"  the  glory  of  its  aspect  fades  into 
blanched  fearfulness;  its  purple  walk  are  rent  into  grisly  rocks, 
ite  silver  fretwork  saddened  into  wasting  snow,  the  storm-brands 
we  on  its  breast,  the  ashes  of  its  own  ruin  lie  solemnly  on  its 
white  raiment.  .  .  .  For  every  distance  irom  the  eye  there 
is  a  peculiar  kind  of  beauty,  or  a  different  system  of  lines  of  form; 
the  siijht  of  th»t  beauty  is  reserved  for  that  distance,  and  for  that 
alone.  U  you  approach  nearer,  that  kind  of  besuty  is  lost,  and 


•94  nu  MEUQWN  or  mjKOI 


•aotflir  loeMMh,  to  be  djaMganiwd  mi  ndneed  to  rtnui  and  !»• 
CBBPywIiwwtble  matos  and  q>pIi«ncM  in  t«m.  Uvon  dtifa* 
to  pwoHTo  the  gnot  harmoDiM  oi^^  form  «f  «  lodnr  awimtaio, 

Smuft  not  ascend  upon  its  sides.  All  is  there  disorder  and  a<  ci- 
t,  or  seems  so;  sudden  starts  of  its  shattered  bed^  hither  and 
thither;  ugly  struggles  of  unexpected  strength  from  under  the 
ground;  fallrr.  fragments,  toppling  one  over  another  into  mora 
helpless  fall.  I  '  tirc  from  it,  and,  as  your  eye  commands  it  mora 
and  more,  as  vuu  tt«  the  rained  mountain  arwld  with  a  wider 
glance,  behold  f  dim  nympathies  bmrin  to  borr  ^emadraa  in  the 
disjointed  nr.ass;  line  binds  itself  if   stealthy  fellowship  with  hm  ; 

Oby  gr  u  ihe  helpless  fragm  ts  gather  thenselves  into  or- 
cornpaii.e?;  new  captain*  of  hosta  and  masse-  battalions  bt  - 
come  visiblf ,  r!M>  b^  one,  and  tr  away  answers  of  foot  to  foot,  and 
of  bone  to  b'  ne,  until  the  powerless  chao«  is  see.'  risen  up  with 
girded  loins,  and  not  one  pieee  of  all  the  anregaided  liaap  could 
asm  bo  wgmA  from  tlM  myHie  rnhxAb.—^  XXL 


THB  UNFATHOMABLE  UNIVEK«E. 

y.  b  there,  then,  nothin   to  be  done  by  nan    art?   Have  we 
only  to  copy,  and  again  coj  v,  for  ever  't"     ima<;erv  of  the  uni- 
verse? Not  so.  We  have  work  to  do  unon  it ;  \  lere  i  not' any  one  of  us 
80  simple,  nor  so  feeble,  but  he  has  work  to  do  upon  it.   But  the 
work  is  not  to  improve,  but  to  eq;dain.   This  infin^  luii^  erse  is 
unfathomal.le,  inconceivable,  m  ito  wiM>k;  every  human  creature 
aaust  slowly^  spell  out,  and  lonsj  l  ontenif  laic,  '  ich  part  of  it  as 
may  be  possible  for  him  to  tef^^h ;  then  set  f  )rth  what  he  has  U  ariu  d 
of  it  for  tho-io  benoath  him;  extricating   '  from  infinity,  as 
gathers  a  violet  out  of  grass;  one  ioes  noi  improve  either  vinlet  r 
grass  in  gathering  it,  but  on.  makes  the  flower  visibk  :  an',  the  i 
the  human  being  has  to  make  its  power  upon  his  own  heart  vis 
hie  also,  and  to  give  it  the  honor  of  the  good  thoa^ta  it  -aist 
up  in  him,  and  to  write  upon  it  the  history  of  his  own  ^ 
aometimee  he  may  be  iMe  to  do  morp  than  this,  and        ■  i"  in 
•trange  lights,  ana  dinhy  it  in  a  thou.-and  ways  Vf  re  v 
ways  specially  directea  to  neeaiary  and  noble  purpifses,  w: 
he  had  to  diooM  inatremai^  o^  <rf  tlM  wide  wmoty  id  (  \.—Ck 


IMPROVINQ  THB  WOi^  OF  GOT) 

V-  All  this  ho  nay  do:  and  in  this  ke  is  only  doint  every 
Christian  has  to  do  with  the  written,  well  as  the  treat  word, 
"rightljr  dividing  the  word  of  trut^  Out  of  the  in^  v  of 
the  written  word,  he  has  also  to  gatl  >r  and  ^et  forth  thi  new 
and  old,  to  choose  them  for  the  s€^-=  and  work  th^l  arc-  be- 
fme  him,  to  esfdrai  and  numtfeat  iSbem  to  nftirn,  w^  soch  !• 


miOiOVS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  sif 

betweei!  that  v  lich,  with  reeppct  to  N«tii~  •  • 


TmS       NE     tp  VENICE,  VOL.  U. 


VTT.  If  '     UunaaiKl  y    i  ae( 


*40W  aetii.      of  the  slime  of  thos 


LK  V      >0M  OP  OOD, 

;o,  v^   had  been 


ai' 


inmg  upon  its  deep 


pnnitted  to  watch 
turbid  nvers  into  the  pol- 
waten  of  the 


ntrJ^^'Tu^'^^K^^^''''  little  couldwe  havS 
purpose  with  which  those  ialanda  were  shaned  n,lr«f 

-^e  torpid  waters  enclo^d  with  thT 

ov.  httle  could  we  have  known,  any  mor  han  of  Jha? 

— ..  ^„    to  us  most  distressful,  dark,  and  obi«ot  th^  »i«  • 

^'hiefc  was  then  in  the  mind'of  Him  °n  wC  }  ^^1^?^ 

were  ^  r  forth  the  gloomy  margins  of  thoee  ^baSu 

th.    >tter  grass  among  their  shallows,  thai      .  inS 
■n,  >nd  the  only  preparation  pomble/ht  found- 
,  t3  which  was  to  be  set  like  a  ^Iden  cksp  on  the  gh-dle 

It  in  their  thunder,  and  to  gather  and  eive  forth  in 
toe  pnuKtion.  the  clorv  nt  iha  mt^ 


e  V  f\ 
li  sat  i ! 
now  seen 


anr  U 
in  I 
an 


wwM  jHide  pnieKtion,  the 
tte  b^  ming  iMMrt  <rf  her 


*  rr  ^  o"u  give  lonn,  in 

of  the  WMt  and  of  the  East,  from 
and  8i)kndor.— C*.  /. 


HOW  TO  OTAIt  A  SSBMOir. 

'  '[ays  of  regarding  a  sermon,  either  as  a 

<      «n  j^ilo^ •  clergymen  to  finish  it  witTtheir  utmost 

we  half  iecSiv  ^li^^'  IT^^*'  <>'  i°"elTec 

in  its  deKve^bnt  2,  S.?  formality  and  stateliness 

Sua  DrSS  J^S^TT*!,-^""/*  *5?  same  time  consider  the  treatise 
Miua  prepared  m  something  to  which  it  U  r'sr  Ant^     u.*  •,i 


•36  THE  RELIGION  OF  BVSKIN 

minds  in  happy  ooofldaMM  of  being  provided  with  another  when 
nut  it  ahall  be  neccwary.  But  if  once  we  begin  to  regard  the 
prracher,  whatever  hia  faults,  as  a  man  sent  with  a  message  to  ua, 
which  it  is  a  matter  of  life  or  death  whether  we  hear  or  refuse;  if 
we  look  upon  him  as  set  in  charge  over  many  spirits  in  danger 
of  ruin,  and  having  allowed  to  him  but  an  hour  or  two  in  the  seven 
days  to  speak  to  them;  if  we  make  some  endeavor  to  oonoeive  hoir 
precious  these  hours  ought  to  be  to  him,  a  small  vantage  on  the 
aide  of  God  after  his  flock  have  been  exposed  for  six  days  together 
to  the  full  weight  of  the  world's  temptation,  and  he  has  been  forced 
to  watch  the  thorn  and  the  thistle  springing  in  their  hearts,  and 
to  see  what  wheat  had  been  scattered  there  snatched  from  the  way- 
eide  by  this  wild  bird  and  the  other,  and  at  last,  when  breathleai 
and  weary  with  the  week's  labor  they  give  him  ttua  interval  of  im- 
perfect and  languid  hearing,  he  has  but  thirty  minutes  to  get  at  the 
Bvpmto  hearts  of  a  thousand  men,  to  convince  them  of  all  their 
weaknesses,  to  shame  them  for  all  their  sins,  to  warn  them  of  all 
their  dangers,  to  try  by  this  way  and  that  to  stir  the  hard  fastening 
of  those  doors  where  the  Master  himself  has  stood  and  knocked  yet 
none  opened,  and  to  call  at  the  openings  of  those  dark  streets  when 
Wisdom  herself  hath  stretched  forth  her  hands  and  no  ypwn  xe> 

Sarded, — ^thirty  minutes  to  raise  the  dead  in, — ^let  us  but  once  un- 
erstand  and  feel  this,  and  we  shall  look  with  changed  eyes  upon 
that  frippery  of  gay  furniture  about  the  place  from  which  the  mes- 
sage of  judgment  must  be  delivered,  which  either  breathes  upon  the 
dry  bones  that  they  may  live,  or,  if  ineffectual,  remains  recorded 
in  condemnation,  perhaps  against  the  utterer  and  listener  alike,  but 
assuredlv  against  one  of  them.  We  shall  not  so  easily  bear  with  the 
•ilk  and  gold  upon  the  seat  of  judgment,  nor  with  ornament  of 
oratory  in  the  mouth  of  the  messenger:  we  shall  wish  that  his  words 
may  be  simple,  even  when  they  are  sweetest,  and  the  place  from 
which  he  speaks  like  a  marble  rock  in  the  dmH,  eboot  whififa  tht 
people  have  gathered  in  their  thint. — Ch.  II. 


THB  EPISCOPAL  CHUBCH. 

XVI.  In  the  minds  of  all  early  Christians  the  Church  itself  WW 
most  frequently  symbolized  under  the  image  of  a  ship,  of  whidl 
the  bishop  was  the  pUot.  Consider  the  force  which  this  symbol 
would  aarame  in  the  imaginations  of  men  to  whom  the  spiritual 
Church  had  become  an  ark  of  refuge  in  the  midst  of  a  destruction 
hardly  lees  terrible  than  that  from  which  the  eight  souls  were  saved 
of  old,  a  destruction  in  which  the  wrath  of  man  had  become  as  broad 
as  the  earth  and  as  merciless  as  the  sea,  and  who  saw  the  actual  and 
literal  edifice  of  the  Church  raised  up,  itself  like  an  ark  in  the 
midst  of  the  waters.  No  marvel  if  with  the  surf  of  the  Adriatia 
zoUing  betwem  them  and  the  shores  of  their  birth,  from  which  th^ 


RBLIQ10V8  UQHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  237 

•mm  sepantod  for  ever,  they  shoald  have  looked  upon  each  othar 
aa  the  rfiacipl^  did  when  the  stonn  came  down  on  the  Sberiaa  lSJ 

S  hH Jmf  wCM l°^«obedience to thoae  w£?SS 
in  ±118  name,  who  had  there  reDuked  the  wiiuiii  «n<l  MmXT.^ij 
atiUne^  to  the  sea.  And  if  the  stn^w^d^eam  in  w^^Tspi^ 
It  was  that  the  dommion  of  Venice^  begun%nd  in  wh^  strS 

^te  A/^iSlM'T"*  ""^"^  «>nquerret  Wm  noT  lf  to^ 
ttmate  the  wealth  of  her  arsenals  or  number  of  her  armies  nor  look 

councils;  But  let  him  ascend  the  highest  tier  of  the  stem  Sia^  thS 
Bweep  round  the  altar  of  Torcello,  a^  then,  looSe  m  the  pfSt^d 
of  ofd  dong  the  marble  ribs  of  the  goodly  temS^Wp  let VmiS 
people  ite  veined  deck  with  the  shalows  if  iKd  mariner^  aSd 

SS^^^i  L  ♦K^l  been  dosed  against  the  angry  sky  that  was  stiU 
J?^!  "^i**"?  homesteads,-fiSt,  within  the  shdtar 

iLt}^^^f'',f''  of  the  waste  of  wavesaS 

the  beating  of  the  wings  of  the  aearbirda  round  the  rock  SS  Jras 

^^Zi^"-^  *^  ^y^'  ^  ^  iS^^thS 

Thb  sea  IB  His,  and  Ha  mads  it* 

Am>  Hu  Havm  pnPAnD  nn  sn  x^kd. 

— CA.  //. 

HOW  ICBN  WOBSHIP. 

o«J%o'"*®'\^  *  "^^^^  division  of  men  tlum  tiurt  into  Christian 
twJi?^-  /^n*^.*        worships,  we  have  to  ask 

h^^i  Observe  Christ's  Swn  words  on  this 

head:  "God  is  a  »mt;  and  they  that  worship  Him  must  worshSp 
Him  m  spirit,  andTi  truth."  The  worshipping  in  spirit^om^  fiS? 

not  nec^rUy  imply  the  worshipping  in  truth.  Theri^ 
fore,  there  is  fi«t  the  broad  division  of  men  (ato  Spirit  worshiSeM 
?  worshippers;  and  then,  of  the  %»rit  worshippers,  the 
farther  division  into  Christian  and  PagM»,-Vor8hippers  in  False- 

Wf Ir"^J  ^  *^/'?''"*'  tSnoment,  oSSt  aU  inqu^ 
how  far  the  Manolatnr  of  the  early  church  did  indeed  eclipse  Christ, 
or  what  mMnue  of  deeper  reverence  for  the  Son  of  God  was  still 
felt  through  all  the  grosser  forms  of  Madonna  worahip.  Let  that 
worship  be  taken  at  its  worst;  let  the  goddess  of  this  dome  of  Mu- 
rano  be  looked  upon  as  just  in  the  same  sense  an  idol  as  the  Athene 
of  the  Acropolis,  or  the  Syrian  Queen  of  Heaven;  and  then,  on  this 
darkest  assumption,  balance  well  the  difference  between  tliose  who 
worship  and  fliose  wlro  worship  not;— that  difference  which  there 
13  m  the  sig^t  <rf  God,  m  all  ages,  between  the  calculating,  smil- 
ing, self-sustained.  self-Mverned  man,  and  the  believing,  wfspinjr. 
wondering,  struggling,  Heaven-governed  man;— between  tb)  men 


*39  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

who  say  in  their  hearts  "there  is  no  God,"  and  those  who  acknowl- 
edge  a  God  at  everv  step,  "if  haply  they  might  feel  after  Him  and 
find  Him."  For  tnat  is  indeed  the  difference  which  we  shall  find 
in  the  end,  between  the  builders  of  this  day  and  th«  builders  on  that 
sand  island  long  afga.  The^  did  honor  something  out  of  them- 
selves; thev  did  believe  in  spiritual  presence  judging,  animating,  re- 
deeming them;  they  built  to  its  honor  and  for  its  habitation;  and 
were  content  to  pass  away  in  nameless  multitudes,  so  only  that  the 
labor  of  their  hands  might  fix  in  the  sea-wilderness  a  throne  for 
their  guardian  angel.  In  this  was  their  strength,  and  there  was  in« 
deed  a  Spirit  wcuking  with  them  on  the  waters,  though  they 
could  not  discern  the  form  th.ereof,  though  the  Master's  voioe  came 
not  to  them,  *'It  is  l."—Ch  III. 

DEVELOPMENT  OF  CHUBCHES  AND  DWELLING  HOUSES. 

Lm.  Wherever  Christian  church  architecture  has  been  good 
and  lovely,  it  has  been  merely  the  perfect  development  of  the  com- 
mon dwelling-house  architecture  of  the  period;  that  when  the 
pointed  arch  was  used  in  the  street,  it  was  used  in  the  church ;  when 
the  round  arch  was  used  in  the  street,  it  was  used  in  the  church; 
when  the  pinnacle  was  set  over  the  garret  window,  it  was  set  over 
the  belfry  tower;  when  the  flat  roof  was  used  for  the  drawing-room, 
it  was  uMd  for  the  nave.  There  is  no  mcredness  in  round  arches, 
nor  in  pointed ;  none  in  pinnacles,  nor  in  buttresses ;  none  in  pillars, 
nor  in  traceries.  Churches  were  larger  than  most  other  buildings, 
because  they  'had  to  hold  more  people ;  they  were  more  adorned  than 
most  other  building,  because  they  were  safer  from  violence,  and 
were  the  fitting  subjects  of  devotional  offering :  but  they  were  never 
built  in  any  sqparat^  myatioal,  and  religious  style;  they  were  built 
in  the  manner  that  was  common  and  familiar  to  evervbody  at  the 
time.  The  flamboyant  traceries  that  adorn  the  facade  of  Rouen 
Cathedral  had  once  their  fellows  in  every  window  of  every  house  in 
the  market-place;  the  sculptures  that  adorn  the  porches  of  St.  Mark's 
had  once  their  match  on  the  walls  of  every  palace  on  the  Grand 
Canal ;  and  the  only  difference  between  the  church  and  the  dwelling- 
house  was,  that  there  existed  a  symbolical  meaning  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  parts  of  all  buildings  meant  for  worship,  and  that  the 
painting  or  sculpture  was,  in  the  one  case,  less  frequently  of  pro- 
fane subject  than  in  the  other.  A  more  severe  distinction  cannot 
be  drawn :  for  secular  history  was  constantly  introduced  into  church 
architecture:  and  sacred  history  or  allusion  generally  formed  at 
least  <me  half  of  tha  wnamont  of  the  dwdIin|flMNne.---(7Jk.  IV. 

flTMEBB  Oy  SPLENDID  CHTTKCR  OKKAMDm. 

LV.  Sc  long  as  our  streets  arc  walled  with  barren  brick,  and  our 
eyes  rest  continually,  in  our  daily  life,  on  objects  utterly  ugly,  or 


RELIOIOUS  LIGHT  IN  AMCHITECTURS  ,3, 

?ii°*T^I?^*if"4  ^eapingiess  design,  it  may  be  a  doubtful  aues- 
toon  whether  the  faculties  of  eye  a^d  mind  which  are  caSb?e 
perceivmg  beauty,  having  be«n  left  without  food  during  Xwhdl 
of  our  active  life,  should  %e  suddenly  feasted  upon  entering  a  dlS 

^nr«"*"^'i°**,^°^°''  sculptuiS  shoSld  defiSit  tS 

senses,  and  stir  the  curiosity  of  men  muMJcSstomed  to  such  fppeS 
at  the  moment  when  they  are  required  to  compMe  AemaewL  S 
acts  of  devotionj-this,  I  say,  ma*y  be  a  doubTfi^u^t^n  Tut  if 
cannot  be  a  question  at  aU,  that  if  once  famUiS^S  b^utiful 
form  and  cofor,  and  accustomed  to  see  in  whatever  human  hSl 
have  executed  for  us,  even  for  the  lowest^rS2!rideSnf  nobte 
thought  and  admirable  skill,  we  shall  desire  to  sm  wiH«n«S 
also  m  whatever  is  built  or  labored  fo^^  hW^of^ra^  ThftT 
absence  of  the  acc^omed  loveliness  would  dirtSrinstlad  of  al! 
sistmg  devotion :  and  that  we  should  feel  it  asTS  to  sS  wheth« 
vn  h  our  own  house  Ml  of  goodly  craftsmanship,  wesLnlTwlll 

whose  days  journey  had  led  him  through  fair  woods  and  bv  ^eS 

LOVE  OF  ABT  NOT  NECBSSAKY  TO  THE  8PIEITUAL  MINDED 

thoughfa  with  the  matters  of  this  world,  causing  them  to  fall  iSo 
strange  distress^  and  doubts,  and  often  leading  tSem  Sto  what 
themselves  would  confess  to  be  errors  iHSfiSmSng  o?  e!S 
thlTL'-  '^"*y\,L^°  not  sav  that  the-  SS^nofmL^f 
Ifchi!"  ''"^  4"  ^         conduct  is  more  Jon- 

^d  t^HJ^jJ''  i°  the  tone  of  all  their  feeUn^, 

^i*?  *h«*  ^^'T  reason  exposed  to 

grwtCT  tnals  and  fears,  &an  those  whose  hardier  frame  anS  natuiw 
ally  narrower  vision  enable  them  with  less  eflfort  to  give  their  handl 
^  ?^/T°t''*^^  with  Him.  But  still,  the  genen^  fact  is  indeed 
80,  that  I  have  never  known  a  man  who  aeemed  altogether  right 
m^fS^K  <««d  about  art;  and  wIm  SsSSly 

fTSS  7Jiiiif  qnjte  «°PO«We  to  say  beforehand  by  what  el«i  <i 
•rt  thii  impniikm  wffl  on  loeh  men  be  made.— CA:  IV/ 

CHXmCH  WALLS  AS  EDUCAT0B8. 

/S?*  ^  ^        'P'^^^^  0'      "hole  cl»urch  as  a  oreat  Book 


MO  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

man  people  of  the  time  wen  taught  their  Scripture  hiatorv  by 
means  of  them,  more  impreariTely  perhaps,  though  far  len  nilly^ 
than  ours  are  now  by  Scripture  reading.  They  had  no  other  Bible, 
and — Protestants  do  not  often  enou^  consider  this — could  have 
no  other.  We  find  it  somewhat  difficult  to  furnish  our  poor  with 
printed  Bibles;  consider  what  the  difficulty  must  have  been  when 
they  could  be  given  only  in  manuscript.  The  walls  of  the  churoh 
neceasarily  became  the  poor  man's  Bible,  and  a  pictuze  wai  more 
eauly  read  upon  the  mills  than  a  chapter. — Ch.  tV. 

VKNICE  SINNED  AGAINST  LIGHT. 

LXXI.  Shall  we  not  look  with  changed  temper  down  the  long 
perspective  of  St.  Mark's  Place  towards  the  sevenfold  gates  and 
glowing  domes  of  its  temple,  when  we  know  with  what  solemn 

iturpoee  the  shafts  of  it  were  lifted  above  the  pavement  of  the  popu- 
oua  square?  Men  met  there  from  all  cmutries  of  the  earth,  for 
traffic  or  for  pleasure ;  but,  above  tiie  crowd  swaying  for  ever  to  and 
fro  in  the  restlessness  of  avarice  or  thirst  of  delight,  was  seen  per- 
petually the  glory  of  the  temple,  attesting  to  them,  whether  tney 
■would  near  or  whether  they  would  forbear,  that  there  was  one  treas- 
ure which  the  merchantmen  might  buy  without  a  price,  and  one 
delight  better  than  all  others,  in  the  word  and  the  statutes  of  God. 
Not  in  the  wantonness  of  wealth,  not  in  vain  ministry  to  the  de- 
sire of  the  eyes  or  the  pride  of  life,  were  those  marbles  hewn  into 
transparent  strength,  and  those  arches  arrayed  in  the  colon  of  the 
iris.  There  is  a  message  written  in  th%  dyes  of  them,  that  once  was 
written  in  blood;  and  a  sound  in  the  echoes  of  their  vaults,  that 
one  day  shall  fill  the  vault  of  heaven, — "He  shall  return,  to  do 
judgment  and  justice."  The  strength  of  Venice  was  given  her,  so 
i(mg  as  die  ranembered  this:  her  destruction  found  her  when  she 
had  fo^^»tten  this;  and  it  found  her  irrevocably,  because  she  for^ 
got  it  without  excuse.  Never  had  city  a  more  glorious  Bible.  Among 
uie  nations  of  the  North,  a  rude  and  shadowy  sculpture  ffiled  their 
temples  with  confused  and  hardly  legible  imagery;  out,  for  her,  the 
skill  end  the  treasures  of  the  East  had  gilded  every  letter,  and  il- 
lumined every  page,  till  the  Book-Temple  shone  from  afar  ofiF  like 
the  star  of  the  Magi.  In  other  cities,  the  meetings  of  the  people 
ynm  ohm  in  places  withdrawn  from  nligious  association,  subject 
to  violence  and  to  change ;  and  on  the  grass  of  the  dangerous  ram- 
part, and  in  the  dust  of  the  troubled  street,  there  were  deeds  done 
and  counsels  taken,  which,  if  we  cannot  justify,  we  may  sometimes 
forgive.  But  the  sins  of  Venice,  whether  in  her  palace  or  in  her 
piazza,  were  done  with  the  Bible  at  her  right  hana.  The  walls  on 
which  its  testimony  was  written  were  separated  but  by  a  few  inches 
of  marble  from  those  whidi  guarded  the  secrets  of  her  councils,  or 
coaflned  th^  victims  d  bar  poliqr*  And  when  in  her  last  hoon 


RBUOIOVS  LIGHT  IN  ASCSITSCTURE  .41 

she  threw  off  all  shame  and  all  restraint,  and  the  OTcat  flona» 
membered  how  much  her  sin  was  snater  becanqA  {t  «.  • 


THE  MORAL  RBLATION  OF  COLOR. 


THE  DmXB  NATURE  TYPIFIED  IN  COLOR 

iS  rSip^J  the^fri^f  T?j£!  '^'^Il 

ned  to  tho  human  heart  for  ev«r-  nnp  iT^  •Mcti- 

marvellous  institution  of  5i^Ti^^?*„  foreordained  and 
^trictl^  stUl,  .  thiSTlS  ;4e^ te/t  !>iretlL°li 


^'-^S  INDIFFERENCE  TO  WASTE  AND  LOSS 


Mt  TEE  BELIOION  OF  RVSKIN 

given  but  once  in  the  world's  history,  to  be  quenched  and  short- 
ened by  miseries  of  chance  and  guilt.  I  do  not  wonder  at  what 
men  Suffer,  but  I  wonder  often  at  what  they  Lose.  We  may  see 
how  good  rises  out  of  pain  and  evil;  but  the  dead,  naked,  eyeless 
loss,  what  good  comes  of  that?  The  fruit  struck  to  the  earth  be- 
fore its  ripeness;  the  flowing  life  and  goodly  purnose  dissolved 
away  in  sadden  death;  the  words,  half  spoken,  choiced  upon  the 
lips  with  day  forever;  or,  stranger  than  all,  the  whole  migeaty  of 
humanity  raised  to  its  fulness,  and  every  gift  and  power  necessaiT 
for  a  given  purpose,  at  a  given  moment,  centered  in  one  man,  and  all 
this  perfected  blessing  permitted  to  be  refused,  perverted,  crushed, 
cast  aside  by  those  who  need  it  most, — the  city  which  is  Not  set 
on  a  hill,  the  candle  that  giveth  light  to  None  that  are  in  the  house: 
these  are  the  heaviest  mysteries  of  this  strange  world,  and,  it  seems 
to  me,  those  which  mark  its  curse  the  most.  And  it  is  true  that  the 
power  with  which  this  Venice  had  been  entrusted,  was  perverted, 
when  at  its  highest,  in  a  thousand  miserable  ways ;  still,  it  was  pot* 
sessed  by  her  alone ;  to  her  all  hearts  have  turned  which  could  be 
moved  by  its  manifestation,  and  none  without  being  made  stronger 
and  nobler  by  what  her  hand  had  wrought.  That  mighty  Land- 
scqw,  of  dark  mountains  that  guard  the  horizon  with  their  purple 
towers,  and  solemn  forests,  HobA  gathey  heir  weight  of  leaves, 
bronzed  with  sunshine,  ncA  with  age,  imo  those  poomj  massM 
fixed  in  heaven,  which  storm  and  frost  have  power  no  more  to 
shake,  or  shed; — that  mighty  Humanity,  so  penect  and  so  proud, 
that  hides  no  weakness  beneath  the  mantle,  and  gains  no  greatness 
from  the  diadem;  the  majesty  of  thoughtful  form,  on  which  the 
dust  of  gold  and  flame  of  jewels  are  dashed  as  the  sea-spray  upon 
the  rock,  and  still  the  great  Manhood  seems  to  stand  bare  agamst 
the  blue  sky ; — ^that  mi^ty  Mythology,  which  fills  the  daily  walks 
of  men  with  n>iritual  companionship,  and  beholds  the  protecting 
angels  break  wi^  their  burning  presence  through  the  arrow-flights 
of  oattle: — measure  tiie  compass  of  that  field  of  creationj  weigh  the 
value  of  the  inheritance  that  Venice  thus  left  to  the  nations  of  Eu- 
rope,  and  then  judge  if  so  vast,  so  beneficent  a  power  could  indeed 
have  been  rooted  in  dissipation  or  decay.  It  was  when  she  wore 
the  ephod  of  the  priest,  not  the  motley  of  the  masquer,  that  the  fire 
fell  upon  her  from  heaven ;  and  she  saw  the  first  rays  of  it  through 
the  rain  of  her  own  tears,  when,  as  the  barbaric  deluge  ebbed  from 
the  hills  of  Italy,  the  circuit  of  her  palaces,  and  ttie  orb  of  her 
fortunes,  rose  tc^ther,  like  the  Iris,  painted  upon  the  doad.— 
Ch.  V. 

CHBISTIANITY  APPEALS  TO  THE  INDIVIDUAL  SOUL. 

TX.  The  Greek  gave  to  the  lower  workman  no  subject  which  he 
could  nnt  perfectly  exmite.  The  Aaryrian  gave  him  subjecta  which 
he  could  only  execute  imperfectly,  Mit  fixed  a  legal  standard  fta 
Ills  imperfection.  The  workman  was,  in  boA  qpstrau,  •  danre. 


amaoioua  uqht  in  AscsiTsoTvitB  ,43 

ing  r^ogni«ed.7«Siai  Kb  L  wen  £  'fi  Ch'^vinity  hav- 
of  every         But  it  n/I*  "  individual  value 

wWch  AeG«ek  or  Nit;&?o  it^^^  ^  ^♦"T' 

as  might  l>e,  altogether  refused,  thj  ChSn^« 
hourly,  contemDlatine  thp  faot  J  u  mates  iZjtily  and 

end,  to  God's^SUnr    Ther^fo-  ^  ^""'^'"R'  ^he 

tian'ity  summon  to  hw^rviS^  he^^ih*^^^^  spirit  which  Chria- 

MEN  NOT  PERFECT  AS  MACHINES  ABE  PIBraOT 

^  X^}^  <*nno*  go  into  the  form  of  cobs  ami 

«)nipa88e8,  but  eraands,  after  the  ten  lours  are  over  into  KdJ 
humanity.   On  tSe  other  hand,  if  you  will  make  a'  mai 
working  creature,  you  cannot  make  I  tool    iTt  hfm  but^erin^ 
imagine,  to  think,  to  try  to  do  anything  worth  dSj  idX^eS 
mne-turned  precision  is  lost  at  once.  Out  cwm^Wb  " 

all  hia  dnlnnga    oil  V,\„  .  -i  . 


riTV-~  t""^"'""  M  lusi,  Ilk  once.  uu»  eOBM  ail  bjto  rouffhriMa 
all  hu  dulness,  all  his  incapability;  shama  WKm^Sme  f«K 
upon  failure  pause  after  pau^lb;  but  o^t^iSj^hdb^kiertv^ 


41-^^'  5*°        ^  Gained,  tormented,  yoked  like  cat- 

tle, slaughtered  like  summer  flies,  and  yet  renuon  in  one  sense,  and 
the  best  sense,  free.   But  to  smother  their  sottfii  within  them,  to 

■  aftbtte 


■wMiigTiliiili,  I 


•44  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

worm's  work  on  it,  is  to  see  God,  into  leathern  thongs  to  yoke  ma- 
chinery with, — this  it  is  to  be  slave-masters  indeed;  and  there  might 
be  more  freedom  in  England,  though  her  feudal  lords'  lightest  words 
were  worth  men's  lives,  and  though  the  blood  of  the  vexed  hus- 
bandman dropped  in  the  furrows  of  her  fields,  than  there  is  while 
the  animation  of  her  multitudes  is  sent  like  fuel  to  feed  the  factory 
imoke,  and  the  strength  of  them  is  given  daily  to  be  wasted  into  the 
fineneaB  of  a  web,  or  racked  into  the  ezactneH  of  a  line. — Ch.  VI. 

aajHULOKOtct  om  icnr  or  wnact  Jkom. 

XV.  In  all  agee  and  all  countries,  reverence  has  been  paid  and 
sacrifice  made  by  men  to  each  other,  not  only  without  complaint, 
but  rejoicingly ;  and  famine,  and  peril,  and  sword,  and  all  evil,  and 
all  shame,  have  been  borne  willingly  in  the  causes  of  masters  and 
kings;  for  all  these  gifts  of  the  neart  ennobled  the  men  who 
gave,  not  less  than  the  men  who  received  them,  and  nature  prompted, 
and  God  rewarded  the  sacrifice.  But  to  feel  their  souls  withering 
within  them,  unthanked,  to  find  their  whole  bung  sank  into  an  un- 
recognized abyss,  to  be  counted  off  into  a  heap  oi^niedianiam,  nnin- 
bered  with  its  wheels,  and  weighed  with  its  hammer  strokes; — this 
nature  bade  not, — ^this  God  blesses  not, — ^this  humanity  for  no  long 
time  is  aUe  to  mdxxn.^^h.  VI. 

DIVISION  OF  IJIBOB — BOMSTIMn  ICBAirB  DTVmOK  OV  UWK. 

XVI.  We  have  much  studied  and  much  perfected,  of  late,  the 
great  civiUced  invention  of  Uie  division  of  labor;  only  we  give  it 
a  fahn  name.  It  is  not,  truly  qwaking,  the  labor  that  is  divided; 
but  the  men: — ^Divided  into  men  segments  of  men— broken  into 
small  fragments  and  crumbs  of  life;  so  that  all  the  littie  piece  of  in> 
telligence  that  is  left  in  a  man  is  not  enoufh  to  make  a  pin,  or  a 
nail,  but  exhausts  itself  in  making  the  point  of  a  pin,  or  the  head 
of  a  nail.  Now  it  is  a  good  and  desirable  thing,  truly,  to  make  many 
pins  in  a  day ;  but  if  we  could  only  see  with  what  crystal  sand  their 
points  were  polished, — sand  of  human  soul,  much  to  be  magnified 
before  it  can  be  discerned  ft  v  what  it  is, — ^we  should  think  there 
mi|^t  be  some  loss  in  it  also. — Ch.  VI. 

IKPSRFBCTION  NBCESSAST  TO  FBOGBSBtS. 

XXin.  Accurately  speaking,  no  eood  work  whatevor  can  be  per- 
fect and  the  demand  for  perfection  w  abv^  a  iign  of  a  minuMer- 

Mtandiiig  of  the  ends  of  art. 

XXV.  Imperfection  is  in  some  sort  essential  to  all  that  we  know 
of  life.  It  is  the  sign  of  life  in  a  mortal  body,  that  i?  to  say,  of  a 
atate  of  progress  and  change.  Nothing  that  lives  is,  or  can  be  rig- 
idly perfect;  part  of  it  is  decaying  part  nascent  The  foxglove 


asuaious  mar  m  AaoainorvRt 

7,rz  Mt„f f  4  -  r 

the  same  in  ite  fiiW  nf.^-«K  .sj  human  face  is  exactly 

WW  same  in  iw  unet  on  each  tide,  no  leaf  perfect  in  its  Ioh«w  nr. 

vmely  appointed,  that  the  law  of  human  UfriMTff  mSS  ^5 
law  of  fiuman  judgment,  Mewy— SEt  fI.  ^  ^  *^ 

ABCHITDCTOBE  THB  MOST  OTICAIT  OP  ALL  AKtB. 

cauM  we  are  something  better  than  birds  or  beaToS^  b^li^S^SS 
confess  that  we  have  not  reached  the\>«iSi^^S??^ 
and  cannot  rest  in  the  cox^Srtn^h^i^^^    r?^  Mnagiiw, 

GOOD  AND  BVn.  IW  ALL  THINGS, 

oecauea  eyu,  if  we  could  see  far  enoudi  into  its  uses  but  fha*  »Y*k 

though  in  the  o^Sk'S  p^J^^^^  :rd  S  t  Shi 

ite  continuance.  The  PurTst,  therefore,  dL  nS' Snd  JtJ^}Z 
woeives  from  nature  and  from  God  that  which     a^L^  f  I- 
wWleJhe^Be^^alist  fills  him«lf  Cththl  hS^^^^J  J^^i 


t4«  THE  BEUQION  OF  BUSKIN 

LVII.  We  know  more  certainly  every  day  that  whatever  appears 
to  U3  harmful  in  the  universe  haa  some  beneficent  or  necessary  op- 
eration ;  that  the  storm  which  destroys  a  harvest  brightens  the  sun* 
beams  for  harvests  vet  unsown,  and  that  the  volcano  which  buries 
a  citv  preserves  a  thousand  from  destruction.  But  the  evil  is  not 
for  the  time  less  fearful,  because  we  have  learned  it  to  be  necessary ; 
and  we  aasily  understand  the  timiditv  or  the  tenderness  of  the  spirit 
which  woula  withdraw  itself  from  the  preeoioe  of  deatmction,  and 
create  in  its  imagination  a  world  of  wmch  the  peace  ahotdd  he  nn- 
broken,  in  which  the  sky  should  not  darken  nor  the  sea  rage,  in 
which  the  leaf  should  not  change  nor  the  blossom  wither.  That 
man  is  greater,  however,  who  contemplates  with  an  equal  mind  the 
alternations  of  terror  and  of  beauty;  who,  not  rejoicing  leas  be* 
neath  the  sunny  sky,  can  heat  also  to  watch  the  bars  of  twilight 
narrowing  on  the  horizon;  and^  not  leas  sensible  to  the  blessing  of 
Uie  peace  of  nature,  can  rejoice  in  the  magniBcenLe  of  the  or- 
dinances by  whidi  that  peace  is  protected  and  secured. — Ck.  VL 

TBI  MIAimrO  OF  VXUrVIMM. 

LXVI.  In  representing  the  Hades  fire,  it  is  not  the  mere  /om 
of  the  flame  which  needs  most  to  be  told,  but  its  unquenchableness, 
its  Divine  ordainment  and  limitation,  and  its  inner  fierceness,  not 
physical  and  material,  but  in  being  the  expression  of  the  wrath  of 
God.  And  these  things  are  not  to  be  told  by  imitating  the  fire  that 
flashes  out  of  a  bundle  of  sticks.  If  we  think  over  his  symbol  a  lit- 
tie,  we  shall  perhaps  find  that  the  Romanesque  builder  told  more 
truth  in  that  likeness  of  a  blood-rtd  stream,  flowing  between  d^ 
nite  shores  and  out  of  God's  throne,  and  expanding,  as  if  fed  by 
a  perpetual  current,  into  the  lake  wherein  the  wicked  are  cast,  than 
the  Gothic  builder  in  those  torch-flickerings  about  his  niches.— 
CK  VI. 

god's  PR0^^810N8  IN  NATURE  ADAPTED  TO  ALL. 

LXXI.  That  sentence  of  Genesis,  "I  have  given  thee  every  green 
herb  for  meat,"  like  all  the  rest  ot  the  book,  has  a  profound  symbol- 
ical as  well  as  a  literal  meaning.  It  is  not  merely  the  nourishment 
of  the  bodv,  but  the  food  of  the  soul,  that  is  intended.  The  green 
herb  is,  of  all  nature,  that  which  is  most  essential  to  the  healthy 
spihtuu  life  of  man.  Most  of  us  do  not  need  fine  scenery;  the 
precipice  and  the  mountain  peak  are  not  intended  to  be  seen  by 
all  men, — perhaps  their  power  is  greatest  over  those  who  are  unac- 
customed to  them.  But  trees,  and  fields,  and  flowers  were  made  for 
all,  and  are  necessary  for  all.  God  has  connected  the  labor  which 
is  essential  to  the  bodily  sustenance,  with  the  pleasures  which  are 
healthiest  for  the  heart;  and  while  He  made  the  grniind  stub- 
bom.  He  made  its  herbage  fragrant,  and  its  blossoms  fair.  The 
immdest  ardiitoetare  that  man  can  biuld  has  no  higher  honor  than 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ABCHITEOTVBM 

SShr  ™PP<«*      ^  existence;  Se 

STiLS^  1***^°  most  glorioua  when  it  u  sculptured  into 

1?  Jr.i?*"j'**^*  I*"''''..?'  and  the  great  Cfcthic  spirtL 

as  we  showed  it  to  be  noble  in  its  disquietude,  &  also  noUe  &  iS 
hold  of  nature;  it  is,  indeed,  like  tW dove  of  NoSl  iTSat  sS 
found  no  ^^-^i^jdj^  inrt«.^*ffi;  iSS 

SIN  coxsisn  or  cHona  or  wrtL. 

iJ^^^tu^  *°  P«8«i°«.  let  us  notice  a  principle  as 
is  J^/V*?"**^'"."  "°'«1»-  It  «  not  the  coWeiteS  but 
fa^fi'^dS^A^?"  ll«w  which  corrupts  the  cSSUr  '  sS 
tecSJl         jf^k^n*  I*  "  »  Gothic  archi- 

tecture,  that  it  shall  use  the  pointed  arch  for  its  roof  prooer-  but 
because,  in  manv  cases  of  domestic  building  t£a  bLwTSiiS. 
«ble  for  want  ol  room  (the  whole  heiahtS  S^apartSSt^'SJ 
required  everywhere],  or  in  varioos  ofter  ways  inSnvTnSnt  flat 
Bul°i?«2f^W  H;       ^  Shi  notTrfi  purity 

i.n^  S^^^'Tif*'  ft*'?  fu"  ^  "°  °*^"y  °<»'  reason  for  a 
of  form:  the  nble  is  the  best:  and  if  any  other— dome  or 
W^g  crown,  or  whatsoever  els^fw  employ^  at  STS  m,S 
be  m  pure  capnce,  and  wilful  transgression  if  law.  ^id  iSS 
ever,  therefore,  this  is  done,  the  GcSSJimS  kit  £ 
M  pare  Gothic  no  more.— C*.  VI.  vaman,  u 

CHWST  WAS  ALL  IN  ALL  TO  THl  BAUT  CBSnrUVI. 

t«SX;  fS-i*^*  *1f^y  •««•  o{  Christianity,  there  was  little  care 
JS:^       '^''f      "^SJ"-         momentbis  question  wa?  hSrd 

VI  **?*.^^but  one  division  among  men,— the  sreat  un- 
atoneable  division  between  the  disciple  ani  advem^.  ^  l^e 
of  Oinst  was  all,  and  in  all;  and  in  jproportion  to  tS  neeSal  S 
&,i  v^M^7^  "'^  person  and  teacfeng.  men  undeiSdffiS 
finity  of  the  requirements  of  the  moral  iaw,  and  the  mannw  ^ 
^ch  1  alone  could  be  fulfilled.  The  early  ^iJ^J  fdt  that 
I?^«uIk*  "ft  ■  ^^^^^  universal  thing,  entering  into  eveS 
SSt^  2^^^*'  •PP««""g  outwardly  in  ten  thousand  diverse  way7 
tvA^iTT^uK^.  "'f'"**®  framework  of  every  heart  In 
fwif  til  ""^^  «l^*y'      its  prooSi^! 

froS  ha!rid  of  rS^'  "I  »™«  i°  proceeding 

irom  fiatred  of  God.  And  m  their  pure,  early,  and  Dracticd 
piety,  they  saw  there  was  no  need  £or*^cod'es  of  moSity,  s^S 
tems  of  metaphysics.  Their  virtue  eonmrdiended  evSSiiM  It 
S*?  everything;  it  was  too  vast  ««»jpiiS3to  6  dl 
fined;  but  there  WM  no  need  of  its  deanitloii. 


»4&  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

working  b:f  love,  Umt  knew  that  all  human  excellence  would  be 
devekimd  m  due  wMm;  but  that,  without  faith,  neither  reason 
oQuld  define,  hot  effwt  vMuh,  the  lomat  phaie  <tf  (Swbtiaa  Tiitne. 

TBI  Apomn  ov  Tisrva  akd  tax. 

Therefore,  when  any  of  the  Apostles  have  occasion  to  describe 
or  enumerate  ai  y  forms  of  vice  or  virtue  by  name,  there  is  no  at* 
tempt  at  system  in  their  words.  They  UM  them  hurriedly  and 
energetically,  heaping  the  thoughts  one  upon  another  in  order  aa 
far  as  nossible  to  fill  the  readerTmind  with  a  sense  of  the  infinity 

SS^ifr  o' righteousness.  Hear  St.  Paul  describe  sin: 
Ming  fliied  with  all  unrighteousness,  fomirntion.  wickedness, 
covetouaness,  maliciousness;  full  of  envy,  murder,  deibate,  deooit, 
malignity;  whisperers,  backbiters,  haters  of  God,  despiteful,  proud, 
boasters,  inventors  of  evil  things,  disobedient  to  parents,  without 
underetanding,  covenant  breakers,  without  natural  affection,  im- 
placable, unmerciful."  There  is  evidently  here  an  intense  feeling 
of  the  universality  of  am;  and  in  order  to  express  it,  tiie  Apostle 
aomea  his  words  confusedly  together,  little  caring  about  their 
^J***  aa  knowing  all  the  vices  to  be  indissolubly  connected  one 
with  another.  It  would  be  utteriy  vain  to  endeavor  to  arrange  hia 
expressions  as  if  they  had  been  intended  for  the  ground  of  any  sya- 
tem,  or  to  give  any  philosophical  definition  of  the  vices.  So  also  hear 
him  speaking  of  virtue:  "Rejoice  in  the  Lord.  Let  your  nedan- 
tion  be  known  unto  all  men.  Be  careful  for  nothing,  but  in  erefy- 
thing  let  your  requests  be  made  kno:irn  unto  God;  and  whatsoe^r 
uungs  are  honest,  whats  ever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are 
poie,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good 
report.  If  there  be  any  virtue,  and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on 
tliese  tninra.  Observe,  he  gives  up  all  attempt  at  definition;  he 
leaves  the  definition  to  every  man's  heart,  though  he  writes  so  as  to 
mark  the  overflowing  fulness  of  his  own  vision  of  virtue.   And  ao 

1  ?  ApoaUea;  thdr  manner  of  ndiortation, 

end  the  k,nd  of  conduct  they  press,  vary  according  to  the  persona 
thw  address,  and  the  feeling  of  the  moment  at  which  thev  write, 
fv  n  attempt  at  logical  precision.   And,  although 

•  0' their  Master  are  not  thus  irregulariy  uttered,  but  are 

weighed  like  fine  gold,  yet,  even  in  His  teaching,  there  is  no  detailed 
or  organiied  system  of  morality;  but  the  command  only  of  that 
faith  and  love  which  were  to  embrace  the  whole  being  of  man:  "On 
thMe  two  commandments  hang  all  the  law  and  the  prophets."  Here 
and  there  an  incidental  warning  against  this  or  tiiat  more  danger- 
ous form  of  vice  or  error,  "Take  heed  and  beware  of  covetousness," 
Beware  of  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisees;"  here  and  there  a  plain  ex- 
ample <tf  the  meaning  of  Christi.m  Invs,  as  in  the  parable?  of  tho 
Damulta^  and  the  Prodigal,  and  His  own  perpetual  example:  theae 
weie  tho  eleme&ta  of  (Mt'a  conatut  teit^iiig;  for  (Im  BcsUtote, 


RELIGIOUS  UQHT  IN  AMOSITECTVMM 

wWdi  are  the  only  npproximation  to  anything  like  a  svsteniatia 
statement,  belong  to  different  conditions  and  cfaract^r^  o?Svid- 
ual  men,  not  to  ulwtract  virtues.  And  ail  early  Chi  niwu  Umi£t 
m  the  same  manner  They  never  cared  to  expbund  die  MtunTof 
I  i  or  that  virtue;  for  they  knew  that  the  heU^t  who  hadChriS 
had  all.    Did  he  need  fortitude?   Chrirt  w»i  his  rock  Eq?^"? 

tion.  Liberty?  Chnrt  was  his  redemption:  Temperance?  Christ 
was  hia  ni^r:  Wiadomr  Christ  was  his  light-  TSuhiil 
Chnat  WM  tha  troth.-  ClMrity:  Qimt  wtm  lai!!-C*.  {7//. 

HOW  CHBI8TUNITY  WAS  COBBVPTSD. 

.„^?2:         •S'^X.*"  ^oportkm  as  the  Christian  religion  be- 
hr^uJ^ilS^U""^  "  *5?  T^""  «>"°Ption»  which  time  and  SaUn 
iS£2S^#^Jj  WW.  able  to  manifest  themselves,  the  person  and 
tStT^/'^^.u   »  ""^  *he  virtues  of  Christians 

i  t    %  nu^^  Believer  Wame  in  some  degree  separatad 

J^rth  1.  ^»  the  throne  of  God,  and  d«aoMiding*upSthe 
earth,  tegan  to  be  regard<^  by  him  as  a  pjrramid  upon  cirth,  which 

^*  P**^"«  *o  "neasure  the  waves  of 

Z  Toii  «V  rIi^I      J^'fy.PO^Meto  measure  the  bricks  of 
^riih^^  LS^i'-'XJ'^^''''^^^'  «  the  thoughts  of  men  were 
^^^T^      *   i'"''"  Hed'^emer,  and  fixed  upon  themselves,  the 
^'  ,  l""^  classified,  and  put 

into  separate  heaps  of  nr,r  .md  seconds;  some  things  being  virtuoos 

v!!^'!!''"-^'  '        '  *"»^y  north-north W.   It  ia 

Jn///  Fu  * *     xtaMiition  the  words  of  tho  Apostles 

and  of  some  of  the  wri;;r9  o.  ha  fifteenth  emtary  tonrhinf'  ^^cti- 
fication.  For  mstance.  hear  linrt  St.  Paul  to  tj;.  y.^^a'SS- 
The  verjr  God  of  peaee  sanctify  you  wholly;  an  .  rn  '  od  your 
who  e  spirit  and  soul  and  body  be  preserved  bla  Jt..  unto  the 
«ttning  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Chnst  Faithful  is  he  that  calleth  you, 
who  also  will  do  It."  And  then  the  following  p-.rt  of  a  prayer  whidi 
I  translate  from  a  MS.  of  the  fif i.^  nth  century    May  TTr  (theTSS 

?^  ^^'  V  ^:  «nd  finnly  to  believe  and  observe 
^  Twelve  Articles  of  the  Faith  and  the  Ten  Commandments  of 

iSL^^SiF///    "**  ®^  *^ 

THE  STONES  OF  VENICE.  VOL.  m. 

QOD  HEVSALBD  IN  NATtTRB. 

^VIL  As  the  othor  visile  elements  of  the  aniveiBe— its  air  its 
«Bd  *  flaw  aut  fotft,  in  thnr  pme  aBa|te%  tbs  Ufo^ 


•5P  THE  RgUOION  Or  BV8KIN 

SStl!^'ii°tL'l"iK"'?*'*jfy"'«.i?^'^<*'  t»»e  I>eity  upon  His 
wjtMw,  ao  the  eapth,  m  lU  parity,  Mli  forth  His  etenity  Snd  hS 

As  we  would  not  wantonly  pollute  the  frp«ih  mtAr>  «W 
they  i^ue  forth  in  their  clear  glo?y  from  The  S^k.^rt^S; 
lH?fioTV^  I?*?  P^ti lential  stagnancy,  nor  mockXSSbSJ?^ 
W~n  J  f"JjS*^"'*7*'  us  not  by  our  ownlSi  md 

Sir?,  th!^  ^^P''       to  ''hich  we  mSrt  re- 

I^S^/i„«®-®*/*S  L*®  "F       ^es,  though  duat  in  itTdee- 

wnicn  was  jor  ever  sanctified  by  Him,  as  the  symbol  no  leaa  of  Wi« 

S'd?  rvu"''  H«  t"'^^      high  Jri«;  bSar  Sfe  na^el 

^^h.ld«n  of  Israel  on  the  clear  rtonli  &  the  jSe^K^^S 


ran  VLACM  TO  KIUOIOM. 


J^r^A  5^  win  least  endure  a 

Sv  o?  heart  or  thoughts,  uid  a  languid  and  «S"al 

i»n/   K  !  Jo        to  error  or  infidelity.   On  the  other 

^hi!^^         *?  ^"^^  believed;  and  the  systems  of  Pagan 
Hrteh^f  °  gradually  to  assume  the  pkces  in  the  human  S 
unwatched  Christianity  was  wasting.  Men  did  not 

S^SiC^^  f P •'"P^*"'  °'  shrinwfor  DiaSa 

but^  ^  of  Paganism  nevertheless  became  thoroughly  vital  and 

ffS?  .  !u matte?  ii  the  l^L 

as  far  as  r^pected  the  power  of  true  religion,  whether  the  Pann 

ZShr  tk''"^  r  '",".°*'J*»  ^'^f  "^t  ;ntirely"cc5piS^ ttS 
thoughts.  Tho  scholar  of  the  sixteenOi  eentury,  if  he  saw  t£e  light- 

Sr  n^n/Sf  «««t  unto  the  west,  Aought  foXiSx  of 
iSkSi  ?n  h?„^  Man;  if  he  saw  the  moon 

Mis'rve'"  tul  s«tly  «.ti«d.  ^  Sis^^ZTed^S: 

P.i°nj'.i°tr*'J^^  of  Christianity  confessed  and 

^nism  beloved,  was  worse  than  Paganism  it^lf,  inasmuch  TS 
J^sed  effective  and  prartical  belief  altogether.  It  would  have  been 

ST,  "^'^  ^      naming  one  God,  imagin"g  an! 

J^^lf^"^"*  •  thou^ndfold,  to  have  iSL  "a 

than  to  have  stood  b^thl 


RELIGIOUS  UQHT  IN  AaOHITXOTVRg 

i«lviran1rS*iS2iSy^^  "  ^J^  -  them- 
•ewes  and  huin«n5S^LTT„J!^?  " 

but  truly  as  they  ap^r  to 'm«m?in-r  *^^«»  '«l»ely 

of  thing?  to  each  oSS  b^t  f*'**^"  «latioM 

and  it  J^uiSTevemhL^^^^^^  *<>  "^n; 

this,  an?only  thi^f^haT  aIKv"  »<>  i*  imperatively 
human  hear^Uatit  has  to^*  to  °,S«n  *°i^\h"™an  eyes  and 

w»  ■QUI  liiaifKtlian  the  material  ewation.— <?*.//.  """^ 

TT    T  U  OBBATNESS  AND  DISTANCE. 

W  anything  of  thi.  kinA^rSTJunn  rfiii 

■COPB  OP  TRUTH  IN  ABT. 

accTimiatedf   ESdmJv  2f  t^is  to  be  ascertained  and 

Never  either  by  oTIT^  ^^Jf^'^^^^^^  ^  feeling. 

soul.   Neither  cSation  nAr  k     *  ^  "tiat's 

calculatioi^  orX^?o?  o' 
tween  the  univem,^*the  XS~S  ^L'^i^'^^d  *o.«"ne  be- 

The  wholeValue^/tTalrtntt  A^i? hl^^^ 
victory  depend,  on  the  ^  V4?"a^S^*^*- 4^*5 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


THE  FUNCTION  OP  THE  ABTIST. 

The  whole  function  of  the  artist  in  the  world  is  to  be 
and  feeling  creature;  to  be  an  instrument  of  such  tenderness  and 
sensitiveness,  that  no  shadow,  no  hue,  no  line,  no  instantaneous 
and  evanescent  expression  of  the  visible  things  around  him,  nor 
any  of  the  emotions  which  they  are  capable  of  conveying  to  the  spirit 
wmch  has  been  given  him,  shall  either  be  left  unrecorded,  or  fade 
from  the  book  of  record.  It  is  not  his  business  either  to  think,  to  judge, 
to  argue,  or  to  know.  His  place  is  neither  in  the  closet,  nor  on  the 
bench,  nor  at  the  bar,  nor  m  the  library.  They  are  for  other  men 
and  other  work.  He  may  think,  in  a  by-way;  reason,  now  and 
then,  when  he  has  nothing  better  to  do;  know,  such  fragments  of 
knowledge  as  he  can  gather  without  stooping,  or  reach  without 

Eains ;  but  none  of  these  things  are  to  be  his  care.  The  woik  of  hit 
le  is  to  be  two-fold  only:  to  see,  to  fed.— C/i.  //. 

EVEBY  MAN  FOB  HI8  WORK. 

XI.  God  has  made  every  man  fit  for  his  work ;  He  has  ^ven  to 
the  man  whom  he  means  for  a  student,  the  reflective,  logical,  se- 
Quential  faculties;  and  to  the  man  whom  He  means  for  an  artist, 
tne  perceptive,  sensitive,  retentive  faculties.  And  neither  of  these 
men,  so  far  from  being  able  to  do  the  other's  work,  can  even  com- 
prehend the  way  in  which  it  is  done.  The  student  has  no  under- 
standing of  the  vision,  nor  the  painter  of  the  process;  but  chiefly  the 
student  has  no  idea  of  the  colossal  gmp  of  the  tma  paintw's  vis- 
um and  sensihility. — Ch.  11. 

WHAT  OOD  QIVB8. 

XII.  The  thoughtful  man  is  gone  far  away  to  seek ;  but  the 
perceiving  man  must  sit  still,  and  open  his  heart  to  receive.  The 
thoughtful  man  is  knitting  and  sharpening  himself  into  a  two- 
edgedsword,  wherewith  io  pieroe.  The  perceiving  man  is  stretching 
himself  into  a  foar-oomeied  sheet  wherewith  to  oatch.  And  all  the 
hreadth  to  which  he  can  expand  himself,  and  aB  ttw  wfa^  ^"^^ 
ness  into  which  he  can  blanch  himself,  will  not  ha  SMiai^  to  iMtttPt 
what  God  has  to  give  him. — Ch.  II. 

KNOWLEDGE  AND  CONTENTMENT. 

XXIV.  We  talk  of  learned  and  ignorant  men,  as  if  there  were 
a  certain  quantity  of  knowledge,  which  to  possess  was  to  be  learned, 
and  which  not  to  possess  was  to  be  ignorant ;  instead  of  considering 
that  knowled^  is  infinite,  and  that  the  man  most  learned  in  human 
estimation  is  just  as  far  from  knowing  anything  as  he  oufdit  to  know 
it,a8  theunletteredpeasant  Men  are  merely  on  a  lower  or  ni^ierstaM 
<^  an  eminmoe,  whose  summit  is  God's  throne,  inflnitdy  nan 


REUaiOVS  UQET  IN  ABOHITBCTVRB  »ss 

V"^  much  reason  for  the  wisest  as  for  the  simplest 
man  being  discontented  with  his  position,  as  respects  the  wS^SS- 
tity  of  knowledge  he  possesses,  ^nd,  for  both  oftfc«m,™e^lv  tJS» 
reasons  for  contentment  with  the  suAi  of  knowledge  the v  dS^s^ 
these:  that  ,t  is  the  kind  of  knowledge  they  need X  Sr^Sfid 

It  IS  in  their  power;  that  all  they  have  is  well  in  order  and  within 

ffi^'  8ot,  has  been  lost;  and  t£a  thJw  k 

not  too  much  to  be  CMUy  tekw  cm  of  .—Oik.  » 

^  ASSIMILATING  KNOWLEDOB. 

f  «^  to  «rVT^**°  °°  to  know,  than  we 

kJJ^alTfh«JT  /T?  ^"♦^PPtte.  «njoy,  act,  adore;  and  we  nur? 
know  aU  that  is  to  be  known  in  this  world,  and  what  8^  knowsin 
S  other,  without  being  able  to  do  any  of  these.  wTarTto^k 
therefoi*  first,  is  the  knowledge  we  would  have  fit  food  for  us  c^d 
rf?tSSfe.M  *  "'^''^}  ^^orated?  and  secondly,  how  S 
it  wilf  enable  us  best  for  our  work ;  and  will  leave  our  hearts  S 

sfo^s  E^SL^:!!^;;.        th.1  i.  to  u  ..rsffl 

  LESSON  FBOM  THS  BOOC  OV  JOB. 

to^^L^t^ul^T^l!!!!".""'  especially  natural  his- 
wxy  make  men  gentie  and  modest  in  proportion  to  the  hirseneas  of 
their  apprehension,  and  just  perception  of  the  infinite3Ttho 
things  they  can  never  know.  And  this,  it  seems  to  i».  kTh- 

there  G<^  has  thrown  ^  to  us  the  heart  of  a  man  most  jugt  and 
iSAt^!''?ir^*ir  P«?!-*  *•  all  thing.  poss^We  to  human  it^ 
«wpt  humility  foT  this  he  is  tried:  an4  ire  are  shown  llM  no 
•offering,  no  self-exammation,  however  hoam.  however  stsmi  m 
searching  out  of  the  heart  by  it.  own  bittS,  ^T'coS 
vmce  man  rfhis  nothmgnes.  botew  God:  but  that  the^TcZ}^ 
«wi»n  win  do  it.  For,  when  ffw  Deity  himself  has  wT&d  to  end 
the  temptation,  and  to  «/«>mplish  ,n  Job  that  for  which  it  w« 
ZLS  y.T^«»fe  to  reason  with  him,  still  less  does 

■^t.^7  ir  1  »°;<JV't»es.   He  opens  before  him  only  the 

JhTr^-H  ♦I'^'^'  ""^.i*^*  fountains  of  the  deep;  and  amidst 
w.l.rS?tli?%T^'' !.•{!?      *e  heaving  waves.  He  bids  him 


S54  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

PRIDE  OF  LIFE  AND  FBAB  OF  DEATH. 

XL VI.  Exactly  in  proportion  as  the  pride  of  life  became  more 
insolent,  the  fear  of  death  became  more  servile;  and  the  difference 
in  the  manner  in  which  the  men  of  early  and  later  days  ador?ied 
the  sepulchre,  confesses  a  still  greater  difference  in  their  manner 
of  regarding  death.  To  those  he  came  as  the  comforter  a  ad  the 
friend,  rest  in  his  right  hand,  hope  in  his  left;  to  these  as  the  humili- 
ator,  the  spoiler,  and  the  avenger.  And,  therefore,  we  find  the  earl}* 
tombs  at  once  simple  and  lovely  in  adornment,  severe  and  solemn 
m  their  expression ;  confessing  the  power,  and  accepting  the  peace, 
of  death,  openly  and  joyfully;  and  in  all  their  symbols  marking 
that  the  Lope  of  resurrection  lay  only  in  Christy's  righteousness; 
signed  always  with  this  simple  utterance  of  the  dead,  "I  will  lay  me 
down  in  peace,  and  take  iiy  rest;  for  U  if  tiioa,  Lord,  (mly  that 
makest  me  dwell  in  safety.  '—Ch.  II. 

THE  NECjSSSITY  AND  FUNCTION  OF  LAW. 

LXXXVII.  Law,  so  far  as  it  can  be  reduced  to  form  and  system, 
and  is  not  written  upon  the  heart, — as  it  is,  in  a  Divine  loyalty,  upon 
the  hearts  of  the  great  hierarchies  who  serve  and  wait  about  the 
throne  of  the  Etonal  Lawgiver, — this  lower  and  formally  expressi- 
ble law  has,  I  say,  two  objects.  It  is  either  for  the  definition  and 
restraint  of  sin,  or  the  gui<knce  of  simplicity;  it  either  explains,  for- 
bids, and  punishes  wickedness,  or  it  guides  the  movements  and 
actions  both  of  lifeless  things  and  of  the  more  simple  and  untaught 
among  responsible  agents.  And  so  long,  therefore,  as  sin  and  fool- 
ishness are  in  the  world,  so  lon§  it  will  be  necessary  for  men  to  sub* 
mit  themselves  painfully  to  this  lower  law,  in  proportion  to  their 
need  of  being  corrected,  and  to  the  degree  of  cnildishness  or  sim- 
plicity by  K^idi  they  approach  more  nearly  to  the  condition  of 
the  unthmking  and  inanimate  things  which  are  governed  by  law 
altogether;  yet  yielding,  in  the  manner  of  their  submassion  to  it,  a 
singular  Irason  to  the  pride  of  man, — being  obedient  more  perfectly 
in  proportion  to  their  greatness.  But,  so  far  as  men  become  good 
and  wise,  and  rise  above  the  state  of  children,  so  far  they  become 
emancipated  from  this  written  law,  and  invested  with  the  perfect 
freedom  which  consists  in  the  fulness  and  joyfulneaa  of  compliance 
with  a  higher  and  unwritten  law;  a  law  so  universal,  so  sura*,  w 
gloriooa,  that  nothing  but  the  heart  can  keep  it.— C^.  //. 

PRIDE  AND  PHARI8EEISM. 

LXaaviii.  Now  pride  opposes  itself  to  the  observance  of  this 
Divine  law  in  two  opposite  ways:  either  by  brute  resistance,  which  is 
the  way  of  the  rabble  and  its  leaders^  denying  or  defving  law  alto- 
gether; or  by  formal  compliance,  which  is  the  way  of  the  Pharisee, 
exalting  himself  while  he  pretends  to  obedience,  and  making  void 


REU0J0U8  UQHT  IN  ABOHJTBCTVBB  ass 

the  infinite  and  spiritual  commandment  by  the  finite  and  lettered 
commandment.   And  it  u  easy  to  know  which  law  we  are  obey- 

HOW  cHBisT's  mumnro  was  pmwwmd,— ikfidblity. 

b^^hS  th»^%^Jf^'  "  ^f^^^  of  the  life  of  Christ  sank 
DMJt  mto  ttae  depths  of  time,  and  became  obscured  bv  the  mistv  at- 
S^S^  ^  ^i^tory  of  the  world,-as  inten^?L  aS^aSd 
incidents  multiplied  in  number,  and  countless  changes  in  men's 
modes  of  life,  and  tones  of  thought,  rendered  it  more  difSuU  foj 
them  to  imagine  the  facts  of  distant  time,— it  became  dailvalmfSt 
hourly,  a  greater  effort  for  the  faithful  heart  to  a^Xnd  the  eSS 

Toi^ihlZLuf'^^  ^'i  RedeemTrTand  more  e^y 

for  the  thtjughtlras  and  remiss  to  deceive  themselves  as  to  the  true 
character  of  the  belief  they  had  been  taught  to  profess  And  this 
rttw„^?  f "  "^'ti  ^^tP^^t""  of  the  cEurcrnever  fa  led 
♦L*^l"^''*/*^'''"^°r:  ""u^  ^^"''''^  itself  never  erred  in  its  prac 
S  ^"^^  "•noved  the  trutfis  of 

»,  T*U"*°  ^^l^""  distance,  added  to  them  also  some  false  or 
Srj-''^'^  'y""^  distortion  was  added  to  natural  ob^ 
acunty,  and  the  dmmm  of  memory  was  disguised  by  the  fruitfulness 
of  fiction;  wh«a,  mweover,  the  enormous  temponJ  poweV 

tJltT  "f?**^  muhituS  of  men  w!^,  bS 

for  such  temptation,  would  not  have  pretended  to  the  (Jhrikian 
J^f^flU^  that  grievous  wolves  entered  in  among  them,  not  sparins 
^iS^i'  '^^  l^^^^'i^  machinations  of  such  men,  aSd™? 
remissn««  of  0  hers  the  form  and  administration  of  church  docJ 
trine  and  discipline  had  become  little  more  than  a  means  of  aggran- 
i:^ri})t  priesthood,  it  was  impossible  any  lon|ffJ- 

JSy  of  fii^^^cH/  *°  ^  unquestioned  3- 

THE  REPORMATIOS.— WWraWAKT  Am  MMAVnr  SBBOn. 

buf ^^•SL^*'?}^!!"!?'*'''^",^?*  ""^'^y-  reformation 

?«lf^Tfl  i.  "  P**^  ^^"^  '*f«  '"to  Church,  but  it  did  not 
^"^''V  "ome  sort  it  rather  broke  down  li« 
hedges  so  that  all  they  who  passed  by  might  pluck  off  her  anom 
The  reformers  speedily  found  that  the  enemy  was  never  far  bcMnd 
the  sower  of  good  8e«i;  that  an  evil  spirit  might  enter  the  ™S« 
dLdlv  Knlr  Vvi  t  of  resistance;  and  that  though  the 
i^^,  iliffeS/^      '^^^-t'  there  was  n^hope 

of  ever  nddma  tfa»  »*ert  itirff  fifom  the  tar^^   New  temptations 

wt»  mv«trf  V  8«tw  whwwith  to  op|K»  th«  miwdS^ 


«S6  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

Christianity :  aa  the  Romanist,  confidins  in  hia  human  teachers  had 
wased  to  try  whether  they  were  teac^  sent  from  God,  so  the 
Protestant,  confiding  in  the  teaching  of  the  Spirit,  believed  every 
epirit,  and  did  not  try  the  spirits  whether  they  were  of  God.  And 
a  thousand  enthusiasms  and  heresies  speedily  obaeuNd  the  faith  and 
divided  the  forces  of  the  Reformation.— -C/i.  //. 

FOBQBTTINO  ODD  AND  PUNISHMENT. 

XVIII.  Throudiout  the  whole  of  Scripture  history,  nothing  b 
more  remarkable  than  the  close  connection  of  punishment  with  the 
em  of  vam-glory.  Every  other  sin  is  occasionally  permitted  to  re- 
mam,  for  lengthened  periods,  without  definite  chastisement;  but 
the  forgetfulness  of  God,  and  the  claim  of  honor  by  man,  as  be- 
lonmng  to  himself,  are  visited  at  once,  whether  in  Hezekiah,  Nebu- 
chatteuiar,  w  Hood,  with  tha  mott  tMmoMkMis  pun^hmni— 
Ch,  III, 

TBI  FIOPU  PtTWCnOW  OF  PLAY. 

XXIV.  It  is  a  much  more  serious  question  than  may  be  at  first 
supnoacd;  for  a  healthv  manner  of  play  is  necessary  in  order  to  a 
healthy  i-anner  of  work;  and  because  the  choice  of  our  recreation  is, 
in  most  cases,  left  to  ourselves,  while  the  nature  of  our  work  is  gen- 
erally fixed  by  necessity  or  authority,  it  may  be  well  doubted 
wbethw  mwe  distressful  consequences  may  not  have  resulted  from 
mutakoi  dioioe  m  play  than  from  mistaken  direction  in  labor.— 
V  A.  ///. 

EXERCISE  IN  PLAY. 

XXV.  We  are  only  concerned,  here,  with  that  kind  of  play  which 
causes  laughter  or  implies  recreation,  not  with  that  which  consists 
m  the  excitement  of  the  energies  whether  of  body  or  mind.  Mus- 
cular exertion  is,  indeed,  in  youth,  one  of  the  conditions  of  recrea- 
tion; but  neither  the  violent  bodily  labor  which  children  of  all 
ages  agree  to  caU  play,"  nor  the  grave  ezeitement  of  the  mental 
faculties  m  games  of  skill  or  chance,  are  in  anywise  connected  with 
the  atate  of  feeling  we  have  here  to  investigate,  namely,  that  sport- 

t"*"*  possesses  in  common  with  many  inferior  creat- 
wea,  but  to  which  his  higher  faculties  give  nobler  expression  in  the 
va^M  manifestations  of  wit,  humor,  and  fancy. 

With  respect  to  the  manner  in  which  this  instinct  of  playfulness 
U  indulged  or  repressed,  mankind  are  broadly  distiMoishable  into 
four  classes:  the  men  who  play  wisely;  who  pUy  naoeanrUy;  who 
play  inovdinateiy;  and  who  play  not  at  M.—Ck,  III. 

WUDOIC  IN  PLAY 

XXyi.  First:  Those  who  play  wisely.  It  fa  evident  thai  tha 
idea  of  any  kmd  of  play  can  only  be  awwiated  with  the  idea  of  an 


iwrfect,  <iiidish,  and  taiigHlmmttmm.  Am  far  as  men 

Wted  by  touH,  tbey  raiae  it  above  play;  he  wImm  Sartfa  at  on^ 
fixed  upon  hempen,  and  open  to  the  ewth.  so  Sto^reh«n/?h! 

roir^wffl  iiwg  Mtte  dnpa«to«p  for  je8t;  and  exactly  in  proportion 
S  SLStit.  ^1^4*5  J"  cfcaracter  and  intellect^  ^1  hi 
Sn'SS.L  TL?^'*^  ™';P''^'  exhuberant  and  iS^ 
om  moHra,  wladi  must  render  play  impossible  It  ia.  hnm^mm 
evidently  not  intended  th«t  many  men  shS  eJ«  »Si  STS 
pass  their  hves  in,  that  solemn  state  of  thonrfSiK^oh  Srin^ 
them  into  the  nearert  brotherhood  withS^^e^aTteJ^  aSS 
highest  and  healthiest  stete  which  is  competentTordiW'  hSmln 
ity  app^rs  to  be  that  lAich,  accepting  tVe  necSsUy  of^cmS 
Siu^!^^  'T"'*^      ""t""^!  delight  springingTut  S 

healtli  and  nnoeence,  (foes,  indeed,  condeseenf  often  to  p  affobe? 
but  never  without  such  deep  love  of  God,  of  truth,  and  of  hSmS' 
as  shall  make  even  its  si  ghtest  words  reverent,  its  idS^  f«cto  S 
able,  and  its  keenest  satire  indulgent.  Wordsworth  and  pSSTfuS 
S rAS:'"^'  St^  S^r^if     this  pSjfulS! 

-WM  liMB  to  .df-me  beat. 


—Ck.  III. 


PUT. 


XXVII.  Secondly:  The  men  who  play  necessarily  That  hwh. 
Sd^"^K^  playfulness  which  we  have"^  jurS^otmSjrmg^  U 
evidently  the  condition  of  a  mind,  not  only  hiehly  c^T^  h,^ 
80  habrtually  trained  to  intelketoi  lah>r  i^TLTbriJ^VVSn 

Sor^'^LTnS^^SiSS^  ^^^^  «crea: 

^  eniovSl  e^^hhiSS!^""'^  '^P*''^  °/  ™'°d  heart 
«in„{I^V^'*ir^  ?*    .  P"?*"*  0*  ffreatest  exert  on,  that  the  nat 

S?TiP\^!i'^''*T  "  •^'^"*d  "^^^       whole  life.  ToSelLS! 
tty  of  mankind,  such  a  state  b  evidently  unattainable.  . 
This  stretching  of  the  mental  limbs  as  their  fetten  Ml 

the  heart  »d  intellertTwh^  th^^ 
restored  to  the  fresh  air  of  heaven  ^  Mr  nawmi-^rJji  u   lu  • 
tivity,  .„d  „„.ble  ,„  ;„r„  Ih^TJt  ^  SS^u^^lVS 

XXym  Thirdljr:  The  men  who  play  inordinately  Th*»^ 


«S»  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

one  in  which  the  whole  human  race  were  divided,  mora  or  Im  di». 
tinctly,  into  workers  and  thinkers;  that  ii  to  say,  into  the  two 
l*f?i:  '??,o'V'y.PJ«y  ^'^'Jy.  play  nece«apUy.  %nt  the  number 
and  the  toil  of  the  workmg  class  are  enormously  increased,  prob- 
ably  more  than  doubled,  by  the  vices  of  the  men  who  neither  pUy 
"O' °e««»«»n^y.  but  aw  enabled  by  circumstances,  and  Mr- 
Sir'lS*'*^  ^*  of  principle,  to  make  amusement  the  object  of 
their  exirtence.  There  is  not  any  moment  of  the  lives  of  such  men 
which  IS  not  injurious  to  others;  both  because  they  leave  the  work 
undone  which  was  appointed  for  them,  and  because  they  nacaMi* 
nly  think  wrongly,  whenever  it  becomes  compulaory  upon  them  to 
think  at  all  The  greater  portion  of  the  misery  of  this  world  arises 
from  the  false  opinions  of  men  whose  idleness  has  physically  in- 
capacitated them  from  formme  true  ones.  Every  duty  which  we 
omit  obscures  some  truth  which  we  should  have  knoWii;  and  the 
Milt  of  a  life  spent  m  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  is  twofold,  partly  con- 

SffdMfclSoAl^r///""  ^  ^mmuLtioa 

THE  SATIRICAL  AND  LACK  OP  REVERENCE. 

XXIX.  There  is,  however,  a  less  crimmal,  though  hardly  Ie« 
J^^erous  condition  of  mind;  which,  though  not  failfng  in  its  more 
urgent  duties,  faiU  in  the  finer  conscientiousness  which  regulates  the 
degree,  and  directs  the  choice,  of  amusement,  at  those  times  when 
amusement  is  allowable.  The  most  frequent  error  in  this  respect 
^J^A  of  reverence  m  approaching  subjects  of  importanceor 
sacredness  and  of  caution  in  the  expression  of  thoughts  which  may 
encourage  like  irreverence  in  others:  and  theae  firaltfare  apt  to  gain 
upon  the  mind  until  it  becomes  habitually  man  aanaible  to  what  is 
accidental  than  to  what  is  grave  and  essential,  in  any 
subject  that  is  broudit  before  it;  or  even,  at  last,  desirtis  to  vw>^ 
or  to  know  nothing  bat  what  may  end  in  jest.— Cfc.  /// 


THE  TERROR  OF  A  8T0R1C. 


k  ^^vJY'^  ^1^  principal  passions  are  evidently  aimointed 
by  the  Deity  to  n,le  the  life  of  man;  namely,  the  love  if  (SSd,  and 
the  fear  of  sin,  and  of  its  companion— Deatk  How  many  mitivee 
Ii^^te  °'  ^A^:  tb«e  is  in  the  universe  to  kindle  our 

admiration  and  to  daiin  our  gratitude,  there  are,  happily,  multi- 
tudes among  us  who  Imth  feel  and  teack.  But  it  has  not,  I  think, 
y  considered  how  evident,  throughout  the  system  of 
mation,  M  the  purpose  of  God  that  we  should  often  be  arfected  by 
Fear,  not  tfie  sudden,  selfish,  and  contemptible  fear  of  immediate 
aanger,  but  the  fear  which  arises  out  of  the  contemplation  of  ereat 
po^^ers  in  destructive  operation,  and  generally  from  the  perception 
of  the  presence  of  death.  .   .   .  Conttder,  lor  inst«ice,Ue  mo3 


RBUQ10V8  UQBT  IN  AMCBITECTVME  ,5, 

«ffect  of  a  single  thunderstorm    ParhaiM       —  *». 
be  struck  deaB  within  tSrSce  cl  vtt  JT  *^ 
their  deaths,  unaccoim«Srffo?L7^^  T"* 

of  the  funeral  da^rknST  in  It  mfdi^^^^^  ^' 

rattling  of  the  dome  ofheJven  benith  thl  1^!^^°°^"/'  f"'*  '^e 

—on  how  many  minds  do  not  thZ^lS^^l 

great  as  the  actual  XiiSi  Sihf  ft^  TP^^""  « 
are  the  expressioM     ttTSf^^  w  '"''^  ^^o^  strangely 

traJthre  fom  of  m?de™"fa^^^  ^^"^  "lost  at- 

beneficence^f  ArS/dSSd^'  ifint'  P™^"f  ^"g.to  «alt  the 
mercy,  and  blind  obHteratioif^?  u  "/^^^less  infinitude  of 

this  ctiefly  by  dwefling  Sn  the  m-rSfnM °'  "^i**  doei 

ness  on  tfie  face  of  creatron    K^?-^iPP'*T«n«»  of  God's  kind- 

and  always  visible;  bT^'oTalo^^^  w'^hTnd"twT*  ^^'"^^^ 
variably  mineled  with  thA      .      •  "P'"       three  teninp  are  in- 

TV    m.    U  CAN  ONLY  PRODUCE  EVIL 

i-^^""**       not  mt  much  the 


Awbta  of  eteiMl  h« 
««t  «(  falto  aTiL  Whj  aot. 


nuite  (ood  out  of  laflaito  wilt 


m6o  the  religion  OF  RI  SKIN 

Ampm  of  fMtan.  But,  without  resorting  to  thia  tett,  and  mwifar 
kgr  mmlntng  tht  ngly  grote«iue  itMlf,  it  will  be  found  that  if  » 
belooti  to  the  bate  Ktool,  there  will  be,  first,  no  Horror  ia  »;  aM» 
ondly,  no  Nature  in  it :  and,  thirdly,  no  Mercy  in  it. 

LVl.  The  base  soul  has  no  fear  of  sin,  and  no  hatred  of  it:  and, 
however  it  may  strive  to  make  iia  work  terrible,  thera  will  ba  no 
genuineness  in  the  fear;  the  utmosl  it  ean  4o  ml  bt  to  BMln  te 
work  disgusting. — Ch.  III. 

coopntATioM  WITH  TBS  oivnri. 
n.  Not  long  ago,  it  was  said  to  me  bv  one  of  the  masters  of 
modern  science:  "When  men  invented  the  locomotive,  the  child  was 
leamine  to  go;  when  they  invented  the  telegraph,  it  was  learning 
to  speak."  He  looked  forward  to  the  manhM>d  of  mankind,  as  as- 
suredly the  nobler  in  proportion  to  the  slowness  of  its  development. 
Whet  mieht  not  be  expected  from  the  prime  and  middle  strength 
of  the  order  of  existence  whose  infancy  had  lasted  six  thousand 
years?  And,  indeed,  I  think  this  the  truest,  as  well  as  ^e  most 
cheering,  view  that  we  can  take  of  the  world's  history.  Little  prog- 
ress has  been  made  as  yet.  Base  war,  lyine  policy,  thou^tless 
cruelty,  senseless  improvidence, — all  things  which  in  nntions,  are 
analogous  to  the  petulance,  cunning,  impatience  and  care>  -isness  of 
infancy,  have  been,  up  to  thia  hour,  as  characteriatic  of  mankind 
as  they  were  in  the  earliest  periods:  so  that  we  must  either  be  driven 
to  doubt  of  human  progreM  at  all,  or  kdk  imon  it  if  in  iti  thx 
earliest  atage.— IV. 

BODY  AND  WXTL  BISK  OB  FALL  TOOETHER. 

VII.  I  do  not  mean  to  speak  of  the  body  and  soul  as  separable. 
The  man  is  made  up  of  both :  they  are  to  be  raised  and  glorified  to- 
gether, and  all  art  is  an  expression  of  the  one,  by  and  through  the 
other.  All  that  I  would  insist  upon  is,  the  necessity  of  the  wImbI* 
man  being  in  his  work ;  the  body  must  bo  in  it.  Hands  and  habita 
must  be  in  it,  whether  we  will  or  not;  but  the  nobler  part  of  the 
man  may  oftna  tuA  be  in  it.  And  that  nobler  part  acts  principally 
in  love,  reverence,  and  admiration,  tcmther  with  those  eonditiona 
of  thought  which  arise  out  of  them.  Por  we  usually  fall  into  much 
error  by  considering  the  intellectual  powers  as  having  dignity  in 
themselves,  and  separable  from  'he  heart;  whereas  the  truth  is,  that 
the  intellect  becomes  noble  and  ignoble  according  to  the  food  we 
give  it,  and  the  kind  of  subjects  with  which  it  is  conversant.  It  ia 
not  the  reasoning  power  which,  of  itself,  is  noble,  but  the  reasoning 
power  occupied  with  its  proper  objects.  Half  of  the  mistakes  w 
metaphysician,';  have  arisen  from  their  not  observing  this;  namely, 
that  Ae  intellect,  going  through  the  same  processes,  is  yet  mean  or 
noble  according  to  the  matter  it  deals  with,  Knd  wastes  itself  away 
in  mere  rotatory  motion,  if  it  be  aet  to  t^ind  straws  and  duat.— > 
Ch.  IV. 


IV 


LB0TUB18  ON  ARCHITECTURE  AHD  PHHTDia 
Oni  Vox..  (1864.) 

The  four  lectures  which  oooaUtote  this  volume  of  126  pases  wei« 
dehvered  in  E^bogii  ia  th*  ywr  1868  and  published  in  the  year 
foUowing,  'as  far  as  possible  just  as  they  were  delivered."  The  leo- 
tures  as  a  whole,  are  a  splendid  example  of  that  rare  giffof  Ruskin's. 
which  made  tje  ttd  most  taehnieal  of  subjects  attractive 
•like  to  the  scholar  and  the  unlearned.  Many  beautiful  spiiitaai 
lessons  are  taught  and  Scripture  Nfeienoes  an  frequent. 

The  third  lecture  is  devoted  to  a  favorite  fubjeet  of  Ruskin's.  "Tur- 
ner and  His  Works,"  closing  with  a  very  pathetie  and  ekwiMiit  ref- 
erence to  that  great  artist's  death. 

BTBBNOTH  ASD  BSAVTY  IK  THE  POIKTED  ARCH 

lw-.;«5S*i5l°*°^*  bewtiful  because  it  is  the  strongest;  but  most 
beautiful,  because  its  form  is  one  of  those  which,  as  i^know  by  ill 
fit»quent  occurrence  in  the  work  of  nature  arouAd  us.  hw  W 

Ga&er  a  branch  from  any  of  the  trees  or  flowers  to  which  the 
i!Lv«°T  »*».P!a«P^  b«"»t7'  You  wiU  find  thSTve^  one  of  iS 
^rj'tSTl^  ""yj"  ^'  ^  *>  the  pSnted  arch  j 

and  to  that  form  owes  ita  grace  and  character.  .  .  .  Nature 
abhor,  equality  and  rimUitude,  just  as  much  as  foolLih  men  bv^ 

JS^-  ^fT  *^  "hoot^  0'  the  ash  are  com! 

posed  of  four  green  stalks  bearing  leaves,  springing  in  the  form  of 

tJ^rJt  '/l,'^"  you  w^l  fuppose  &/foS 

fi^^K'**?*  more  closelyf you  wSl 

S,«  „l^*      ?PP*^**       ^t"*^  have  only  five  &ves  eich,  7nd 
the  other  two  have  -even,  w  else,  two  have  se^en,  and  the  other  two 
'  ^  "Ir^^y*  onepair  of  stalks  has  two  leaves  more  than  the  other 
^  itl^^J^t  P"«led  and  forgets  whiTil 

f?  »r  i5  l?°8«t.«talk,  and  begins  with  a  stem  for  seven  leaves  where 
it  should  have  nine  and  then  rAsollects  itself  at  the  last  minute^  and 
pute  on  another  leaf  in  a  great  hurry,  and  so  produces  a  stalk  mth 
eight  leaves;  but  all  this  care  it  takes  merely  to  keep  ftMlfoirt 
SSiiS'-Ki.'/     '^'^^'^'^  Pliiiiig  «•         to  £ 

i6i 


■6s  THE  RELIGION  OF  BUSKIN 

COLOB  AS  A  SOUBOE  09  PLBA8VBB. 

10.  You  find  that  custom  has  indeed  no  real  influence  upon  our 
feelings  of  the  beautiful,  except  in  dulling  and  checking  them: 
that  13  to  say,  it  will  and  does,  as  we  advance  in  years,  deaden  in 
some  degree  our  enjoyment  of  all  beauty,  but  it  in  no  wise  in- 
fluences our  determination  of  what  is  beautiful  and  what  is  not  You 
see  the  broad  blue  aky  evenr  day  over  your  heads;  but  you  do  not 
for  that  reason  ctetermine  blue  to  be  less  or  more  beautiful  than  you 
did  at  first;  you  are  unaccustomed  to  see  atones  as  blue  as  the  sap- 
phire, but  you  do  not  for  (hat  reason  think  the  sapphire  less  beauti- 
ful than  other  stones.  The  blue  colour  is  everlastingly  appointed 
by  the  Deity  to  be  a  source  of  delight;  and  whether  seen  perpetually 
over  your  head,  or  crystallised  once  in  a  thousand  years  into  a  single 
and  incomparable  stone,  your  acknowledgment  of  its  beauty  is 
equally  natural,  simple,  and  instantaneous.— leef.  /. 

UGLINESS  AND  SIN : — TRUTH  AND  BEAUTY. 

11.  I  may  state  what  I  believe  to  be  the  truth,  that  beauty  has  been 
appomted  by  the  Deity  to  be  one  of  the  elements  by  which  the  hu- 
man soul  IS  continually  sustained;  it  is  therefore  to  be  found  more 
or  le^  in  all  natural  objects,  but  in  order  that  we  may  not  satiate 
ourselves  with  it,  and  weary  of  it,  it  is  rarely  granted  to  us  in  its 
utmost  degrees.  When  we  see  it  in  those  utmost  degrees,  we  are  at- 
tracted to  It  strongly,  and  remember  it  long,  as  in  the  case  of  singu. 
larly  beautiful  scenery,  or  a  beautiful  countenance.  On  the  oSer 
hand,  absolute  ugliness  is  admitted  as  rarely  as  perfect  beauty;  but 
degrees  of  it  more  or  less  distinct  are  associated  with  whatever  has 
me  nature  of  death  and  sin,  just  as  beauty  is  associated  with  what 
has  the  nature  of  virtue  and  of  life. — Led.  I. 

THE  TOWERS  OF  THE  BIBLE. 

19.  Look  through  your  Bibles  only,  and  collect  the  various  expres- 
sions with  reference  to  tower-building  there,  and  you  will  have  a 
very  complete  idea  of  the  spirit  in  which  it  is  for  the  most  part  under- 
taken. You  begin  with  that  oi  Babel;  then  you  remember  Gideon 
beating  down  the  Tower  of  Penuel,  in  order  more  completely  to  hum- 
ble the  pride  of  the  men  of  the  city ;  you  remember  the  defence  of  the 
tower  of  Shechem  against  Abimelech,  and  the  death  of  Abimelech 
/  *u  of  a  stone  from  it  by  a  woman's  hand;  you  recollect 

the  husbandman  building  a  tower  in  his  vineyard,  and  the  beau- 
tiful expressions  m  Solomon's  Song— "The  'Tower  of  Lebanon, 
which  looketh  towards  Damascus;"  "I  am  a  wall,  and  my  breasts 
like  towers ;  —you  recollect  the  Psalmist's  expressions  of  love  and 
delight.  Go  ye  round  about  Jerusalem;  tell  the  towers  thereof- 
mark  ye  well  her  bulwarks;  consider  her  palaces,  that  ye  may  tell 
it  to  the  generation  foUowing."  Y<m  aa«  in  aU  tli^  caa^  bow  com- 


RELiaiOVS  UQHT  IN  ARCSITBCTVRE 


•63 


pletely  the  tower  is  •  subject  of  hrnnan  pride,  or  delight,  or  defenc^ 

not  in  anywise  associated  with  religious  sentiment;  the  towers  of 
Jerusalem  being  named  in  ihe  same  sentence,  not  with  her  temple, 
but  with  her  bulwarks  and  palaces.  And  thus,  when  the  tower  is 
in  reality  connected  with  a  place  of  worship^  it  was  generally  done 
to  add  to  its  magnificnaoe,  bat  not  to  add  to  its  xeliipoas  efpreiiion. 
—Led.  1. 


BUILD  FOB  YOUB  COMFOBT  A.  3  ALSO  FOB  THE  WAYFABEB. 

25.  The  next  house  you  build,  insist  upon  having  the  pure  old 
Gothic  porch,  walled  in  on  both  sides,  with  its  pointed  arch  entrance 
and  gable  roof  above.  Under  that,  vou  can  put  down  your  am« 
brella  at  your  leisure,  and,  if  you  will,  stop  a  moment  to  talk  wifli 
your  friend  as  you  give  him  the  parting  snake  of  the  hand.  And  if 
now  and  then  a  wayfarer  found  a  moment's  rest  on  a  stone  seat  on 
each  side  of  it,  I  believe  you  would  find  the  insides  of  your  houses 
not  one  whit  the  less  comfortable ;  and,  if  you  answer  me,  that  were 
such  refuges  built  in  the  oppn  streets,  they  would  become  mere 
nests  of  filthy  vagrants,  I  reply  that  I  do  not  despair  of  such  a 
change  in  the  administration  of  the  poor  laws  of  this  country,  as 
shall  no  longer  leave  any  of  our  fellow-creatures  in  a  state  in  which 
they  would  pollute  the  steps  of  our  houses  by  resting  upon  Uiem  for 
a  night.  But  if  not,  the  command  to  all  of  us  is  strict  and  straight, 
"When  thou  seest  the  naked,  that  thou  cover  him,  and  that  thou 
bring  the  poor  that  are  cast  out  to  thy  house."  Not  to  the  workhouse, 
observe,  but  to  thy  house  :*  and  I  say  it  would  be  better  a  thousand- 
fold, that  our  doors  should  be  beset  by  the  poor  day  by  day,  than 
that  it  should  be  written  of  any  one  of  us,  "They  reap  every  one  his 
com  in  the  field,  and  they  gather  the  vintage  of  the  wicked.  TlMjr 
cause  the  naked  to  Jodge  without  shelter,  that  they  have  no  covos 
ins  in  the  cold.  They  are  wet  with  the  showers  o«  the  mountains, 
ana  anlmoe  the  rods,  for  want  <tf  a  [^t«r."*— £m(.  /. 

■VKRYTHINQ  IS  TBS  BIBLB. — IBON  ABCUITJBCTUBX. 

28.  T  am  speaking  to  a  company  of  philosophers,  but  not  phi- 
losophers of  the  kind  who  suppose  that  the  Bible  is  a  superannuated 
book ;  neither  are  you  of  those  who  think  the  Bible  is  dishonoured 
by  being  referred  to  for  judgment  in  small  matters.  The  very  di- 
vinity of  the  Book  seems  to  me,  on  the  contrary,  to  justify  us  in  re- 
ferring every  thing  to  it,  with  respect  to  which  any  conclusion  can 
be  gathered  from  its  pages.  Assuming  then  that  the  Bible  is  neither 
superannuated  now,  nor  ever  likely  to  be  so,  it  will  follow  that  the 
illustrations  which  the  Bible  employs  are  likely  to  be  clear  oful  tn- 
UUigihU  Hhutratien$  to  the  vdA  of  time.  I  do  not  mean  tiMt  emy 

iIwL  MH.  T. 
■Job  zziT.  e-8. 


««4  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

thing  rooken  of  in  the  Bible  historiei  most  continue  to  en<?„r«  fnr  -ii 
time,  but  that  the  things  which  the  SfeuS  for  iHw- 


BOMAKCB. 


you  try  to  reJrain-iBin^^^^ 

.ni^'J?"*"***^"  admiration  fSrT^bSy  bSiutv 

•nd  vmue  unusually  manifested.  And  so  far  from  bLSi  affi 
gerous  guide,  it  is  the  truest  pt*^  t  of  your  beinir  It  S  even  tn,«r  tW. 
your  consciences.  A  nan's  conscience  mayS  irtteriy  ^S^SSd^S 
led  astray;  but  ao  long  as  the  feelings  o?  roiSSS  eSZTStW? 
us,  they  are  unerring— they  are  as  tuw  to  rifhf^^ T  i 

as  the  needle  to  the  ncrthf  and  XSit  yoX^o^do^'^tiT^'j 

in,ir°*^Tf*^*'  r*^'4°*'  tiSestTjid^e^tito  MnS 
GjfS^^rfinS*  with  imagination  and' adSk^,  anTy?S 
nave  tne  perfect  human  aoul.  But  the        «vii     ♦kJ-  j   ^  • 

ttiitwe  try  to  destroy  the  romantic  fSLrlSaVof  tSi^J^^^ 
diwctmg  It.  Mark  what  Young  says  of  Se  men  of  the  woril: 

ihe^^jJiSZiSilfei^oJ^''  friendship  is  romantic,  to  the  men  of 
ue  wim<l-4rae  affection  is  romantic— true  religion  ia  romantic- 

^^hl       ''T  *°  *^      '^^^^  °f     powerful  aSd  Soi^ubJ^t^ 

to  the  spirit  of  Bonaparte,  helped  to  chJS'gS Toya Uy  inV  ^^^^^^^^ 

J^'Sn^el.K"' A™*'^  t'««<'h«ryrchi^al^r  Ltu  SfflS^ 
and  since  his  time,  the  purest  impulses  and  the  noblest  ^utomm 

""^  •"'^  other  W  nune  f£ 

DOING  GOOD  AND  UT0PIANI8M. 

^lu^'v^'^'.u  Ut.0Pianism:  that  ia  another  of  the  devil's  pet 
words  I  believe  the  quiet  admission  which  we  are  all  of  us  so  rea^v 
to  make,  that,  be«iu8e  thin»i  have  long  been  wrong,  it  Lhn^ibfe 
they  should  ever  be  TiiJit.  ia  one  of  the^mwt  fatal  Sii^^SS 


KEMQlOm  UQET  IN  AROHITECTVBE  »6s 


and  crime  from  which  this  world  suffers.  Whenever  you  hear  a 
man  dissuading  you  from  attempting  to  do  well,  on  the  ground 
that  perfection  is  "Utopian,"  beware  of  that  man.  Cast  the  word 
out  <u  your  dictionary  altogether.  There  ia  no  need  for  it  Thingi 
are  either  poarible  or  impossible — you  can  easily  determine  whi<£, 
in  any  given  state  of  human  science.  If  the  thing  is  impossible,  you 
need  not  trouble  yourselves  about  it;  if  possible,  try  for  it.  It  is 
very  Utopian  to  hope  for  the  entire  doing  away  with  drunkenness 
and  misery  out  of  the  Canoneate;  but  the  Utopianism  is  not  our 
business — ^the  work  is.  It  is  Utopian  to  hope  to  give  every  child  in 
this  kingdtmi  the  knowlecbe  of  God  from  its  youth;  but  the  Utopian- 
inn  is  not  oar  bosineM— ue  work  is. — Leet.  11. 

TBK  MOBAL  PRINCIPLE  IN  SPENDING  MONEY. 

45.  You  know  how  often  it  is  difficult  to  be  wisely  charitable,  to  do 
good  without  multiplying  the  sources  of  evil.  You  know  that  to 
give  alms  is  nothing  unless  you  give  thought  also;  and  that  there- 
fore it  is  written,  not  "blessed  is  he  that  feedeth  the  poor,"  but, 
'^lessed  is  he  that  contidereth  the  poor."  And  you  know  that  a 
little  thought  and  a  little  kindness  are  often  wortfi  more  than  a 
great  deal  of  money. 

Now  this  charity  of  thought  is  no!>  merely  to  be  exercised  towards 
the  poor;  it  is  to  be  ezradsed  towards  an  men.  .  .  .  It  is  impos- 
sible  to  spend  the  smallest  sum  of  money,  for  any  not  absolutely 
necessary  purpose,  without  a  grave  responsibiliiy  attaching  to  the 
manner  of  spending  it.  The  object  we  ourselves  covet  may,  indeed, 
be  desirable  and  harmless,  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  but  the  pro- 
viding US  with  it  may,  perhaps,  be  a  very  prejudicial  occupation 
to  some  one  else.  And  then  it  becomes  instantly  a  moral  ques- 
tion, whether  we  are  to  indulge  ourselves  or  not.  Whatever  we  wish 
to  buy,  we  ought  first  to  consider  not  only  if  the  thing  be  fit  for  us, 
but  if  the  manufacture  of  it  be  a  wholesome  and  happy  one ;  and  if, 
on  the^  lidiole,  the  sum  we  are  going  to  spend  will  do  as  much  good 
spent  in  this  way  as  it  would  if  spent  in  any  other  way.  It  may 
be  said  that  we  have  not  time  to  consider  all  this  before  we  make  a 
purchase.  But  no  time  could  be  spent  in  a  more  important  duty; 
and  Ood  never  imposes  a  duty  without  giving  &e  time  to  do  it.  Let 
US,  however,  only  acknowledge  the  principle; — once  make  up  your 
mind  to  allow  the  consideration  of  the  effect  of  your  purchases  to 
regulate  the  kind  of  your  purchase,  and  you  will  soon  easily  find 
grounds  enough  to  decide  upon.  The  plea  of  ignorance  will  never 
take  away  our  responsibilities.  It  is  written,  ''If  thou  sayest,  Be- 
hold we  knew  it  not;  doth  not  he  that  pondereth  Um  heart  oon- 
sider  it?  and  he  that  keqieUi  thy  soul,  aoth  not  he  know  itf « 
Lect.  II. 


«6«  THE  RELIGION  OF  BUSKIN 

THE  INFLUENCB  OF  BUYING  THINGS. 

Of  ISi  bu^T^fr'/'^f^"*  ""^"""y  ^°  ''^at  patronage 

r^ortS  o'^  rt**""  patronage  there  is  indeed:  nrany 

r«     ?L  fu"^  "  '"'"8ht  by  those  who  do  not  care  for  iis  Doi^n 

you  drinJ,  .„d  every 

AO  T*  •      ."^""^^  °°°°  ^^'^  CABE  OP  THE  8TBEET8. 

m  hand,  you  can  sustain  each^oShSt  so  halfd  bL'T^ 
dehght  each  other  best.   And  there  ifindlS  -  i,  ^an 
ness  in  street  architecture  which  m„S  f-  ^'C'ed" 

the  temple:  it  is  a  S  thSgtr"™^^^ 

rehgious  service  but  it  i<?  m»oh  t  J  Ju  in  the  forms  of  a 

CHOICI  0»  A  MMIAMOT  BOIII. 

better  for 'U.JS'SnL'lf  ^^r.  "'■'"'«'■»■  "'f"'"  «  "-iett  not  b. 

and  also,  whether      ouX  n,^»«  K?    *      T""-  Consider  this; 

honour  from  ouJ  d^nTnts  Sin  ^         1°  seeking 

to  be  nobly  rememWd  th^n  nnhlv  ^  *"^«^tors;  thinking  it  bettef 

that  our  soM.  and  oTsons'  sons  i^r  ZV*  '"'^ 

their  childreA  reverently  to  the' d^'„"^l^^^^^ 

carried  to  the  erave  savini*  "T^wO^V  "  ^  had  been 

hia  chamber.''ixe5.  '  Th"  wm  hk  boose:  This  was 


BEUaiOUS  UQBT  IN  ARCHITBCTVRB  ,67 
tarn  KSLB  VMUoma  nr  natvbal  ucaokby. 

♦;«!?'•  y^/^^'  ^®  language  of  the  Bible  ia  spedflcanv  dia- 
tmguished  from  aU  other  early  Uterature,  by  its  deliStTMttual 
imagery;  and  that  the  dedin^  of  God  ;ith  his  pSe  ZT^cn- 
"7^*°  sensibUity  within  them  Out  of  the 
monotonous  valley  of  Egypt  they  are  instanUy  taken  into  the  midst 
of  the  mightiest  mountain  scenery  in  the  pe4«ila  otAiZi  ^ 
g^nery  15  aaaociated  in  their  minds  >SlKimme^te 

^^^^^^ 

Stare  iJ  ST  Iff  ''^''^  P^^^«  '^'^    the  time,  indlSiJ 

merature  is  full  of  expressions,  not  only  testifyine  a  vivid 

natural  things  ther.uielves.  as  if  they  had  huianlmS  wS  is^he 

the  fir  trees  rejoice  at  thee,  and  the  cedan  of  Lebanon  sa^ne  SinS 
gou  gone  down  to  the  grave,  no  feller  is  cST  up  agSnst  S*^ 
See  what  sympathy  there  is  here,  as  if    ith  the  very  hefrts  of Th« 

STof'relu^-.  L°/^%^°^K«^  Christ,  in'iifp^^fiS! 

won  01  tne  lilies.  They  toil  not,  neither  do  they  apin.''^  Conaid» 
juch  expressions  as  'The  sea  saw  that,  and  fled,  JoX  wmX^ 

Umt      TP^Wn'r  *JSf^  littleTilhuS 
*  ^  -x,.^  *°        anything  m  profane  writine  like  this-  nnl 

rf^rS,«l  *°  the  inspired  volume  &  order  to  show  the  valuJ 

of  natural  history  and  its  power  on  the  human  heart.    I  cannot 

iz^  »b*  rx&"*       °'  *^  32 

_  Ohsenre,  first,  it  was  an  arable  ooontry.  "The  oxen  wer«  nlnn^T, 
f  g'  ««d  the  asses  feeding  beside  them?'  It  was  rprtSaftuS* 

J.«Jt    .T^i^  descending  from  the  hirfi 

SJZ  nf  deceitfully  as  a  brook,  and  mX 

stream  of  brooks  they  pass  away;  which  a^  blackiah  ^jISuoxTS 
the  ice,  and  wherein  the  snow  la  hid:  What  W^Jrm 

never  so  ijJ„^"  a"^"*^..??*^  n»al^«  my  hands 

SS^^  ft^.  "Drought  and  heat  consume  the  snow 

watM».    liwai  a  rocky  country,  with  forests  and  verdure  rooted  in 


s6t  TBE  RBUOION  OF  BVSKIN 

the  rocks.  "His  branch  shootetb  f^rth  in  his  garden;  his  roots  an 
wrapped  about  the  heap,  and  seet'i  the  place  of  stones."  Again: 
"Thou  shalt  be  in  league  nth  the  stomo  of  the  field."   It  was  a 

{tlace  visited,  like  the  valleys  of  Switserland,  by  convulsions  and 
alls  of  moontaini.  "Surely  th«  mountain  falling  oometh  to  nou^t, 
and  tiM  ndk  is  removed  oat  of  his  place."  "The  waters  wear  the 
stones:  thou  washest  away  the  thingi  which  grow  out  of  the  dust  of 
the  earth."  "He  removeth  the  mountains  and  they  know  not:  he 
overtumetb  them  in  his  anger."  "He  putteth  forth  his  hand  upon 
the  rock; '  tverturneth  the  mountains  by  the  roots:  he  cutteth  out 
rivers  ar  the  rocks."  I  have  not  time  to  go  farther  into  this; 
but  v<ou  Job's  country  was  one  like  your  own,  full  of  pleaaani 
bnxMcs  and  riven,  rushing  among  the  rocks,  and  of  all  other  sweet 
cmd  noble  elements  of  landscape.  The  magnificent  allusions  to  nat- 
ural scenery  throughout  the  book  are  therefoz«  calculated  to  toudl 
the  heart  to  the  end  of  time. — Led.  III. 

CHRIST       VATXJBAL  BCEKBBY. 

80.  At  the  central  point  of  Jewish  prosperity,  you  have  the 
first  great  naturalist  the  world  ever  saw,  Solomon.  The  boobs 
of  the  Old  Testament,  as  distinguished  from  all  other  early 
writings,  are  thus  prepared  for  an  everlasting  influence  over 
humanity;  and,  finally,  Christ  himself,  setting  the  concluding  ex- 
ample to  the  conduct  and  thoughts  of  men,  spends  nearly  his  whole 
Ufe  in  the  fields,  the  mountains,  or  the  small  couutr-'  villages  of 
Judea;  and  in  the  very  closing  scenes  of  his  life,  will  not  so  much 
as  sleep  within  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  but  rests  at  t^  -  littl'>  village 
of  Bethphage,  walking  in  the  morning,  and  return  a»:  evm- 
ing,  through  the  peaceful  avenues  of  the  mount  <.  '  o  and 
from  his  work  of  teaching  in  the  temple. 

81.  It  would  thus  naturally  follow,  from  the  g**nerai  tone  and 
teaching  of  the  Scriptures,  and  from  the  example  of  our  Lord  him- 
self,  that  wherever  Christianity  was  preached  and  accepted,  there 
would  be  an  immediate  interest  awakened  in  the  works  of  God  as 
seen  m  the  natural  world;  and,  accordingly,  this  is  the  second  uni- 
varsal  and  distinctive  character  of  Christian  art,  as  distinguished 
from  «U  pamn  work,  the  first  being  a  peculiar  spirituality  in  its 
inception  of  the  human  form,  preferring  holiness  of  expression  and 
strength  of  character,  to  beauty  of  features  or  of  body,  and  the  sec* 
ond,  as  I  say,  its  intense  fondness  for  natural  objects— animals, 
leaves  and  flowers,— inducing  an  immediate  transformation  of  the 
cold  and  lifeless  pagan  ornamentation  into  vivid  imagery  of  nature. 
Of  course  this  manifestation  of  feeling  was  at  flnituiecked  by  the 
wrcumstances  under  which  the  Christian  religion  was  disseminated. 
The  art  of  the  first  three  centuries  is  entirely  subordinate, — re- 
stramed  partly  by  persecution,  partly  by  a  h^  q>irituality,  wfaidt 


BMUQlOm  UOHT  IN  AltCHITECTURE  ,69 

'i^  decorated  a  Chrirtian  temple  just  as  they  w5uld  hav! 
decorated  a  pagan  one,  merely  bemose  tl^Jw  religfon  SwmJ 
Imperial,  then,  jurt  a.  the  new  art  was  begSXg  to  LuST! 
dutinctive  form,  fown  came  the  northern  barBarians  upoJIf  and 
aU  their  wpenrtitions  had  to  be  leavened  wiUi  U,  and  all  thSr 
hard  handa  and  hearts  softened  by  it.  before  thS  Jt 
appear  m  anything  like  a  characteristicVi.  Th?w«rSSe1?^ 

hutTJZ^'^Y^y  ^  diJelo^S;  for' I? 

but  It  steadily  and  gradually  prevailed,  working  from  the  eiXh 

dJS^J^«/°?L^*5.*S^.,^«  ^  i°  *e  «ou*nrSoS^^g  K 
fel  S  '^'^h  ^  ^^'""y  examined;  changing  eSStidlv 

•Pga«abow  Uie  black  earth;  m  the  thirteenth,  the  pli^t  u  in 

WHT  CHBL  ?U«  Am  IHfiraL  BOTE  lOVl  HATUMI. 

Duma.,  m  GeoMe  Sai>d,_and  tbat  mteoMlv.  HowTSi.!  SiS 

CtOSB  OF  A  OBSAT  UFB. — TUHNEB. 

106   I  have  told  you  what  Tumo-  ^as  You  have  often  ».«o«l 

ouoine  noDi^t  intellect  of  his  time,  and  never  to  mefit  with  «  aJn^u 
wwdor  «.y<rf sympathy,  uatU  he  felt  himii^lfsiSSrin  A^^ 


170  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

From  the  time  he  knew  his  true  greatnesB  all  the  world  was  turned 
■gamst  him:  he  held  his  own;  but  it  could  not  be  without  rough- 
ness of  bearing,  and  hardening  of  the  temper,  if  not  of  the  heart. 
No  one  understood  him,  no  one  trusted  him,  and  every  one  died 
out  against  him.  Imagine,  any  of  you,  the  eflfect  upon  your  own 
mmds,  if  every  voice  that  you  heard  from  the  human  beings  around 
you  were  raised,  year  after  year,  through  all  your  lives,  only  in 
oondemnation  of  your  efforts,  and  denial  of  your  success.  This  may 
be  borne,  and  borne  easily,  by  men  who  have  fixed  religious  prin- 
ciples, or  supporting  domestic  ties.  But  Turner  had  no  one  to  teach 
him  in  his  youth,  and  no  one  to  love  him  in  his  old  age.  Rrapect 
and  affection,  if  they  came  at  all,  came  unbelieved,  or  came  too  W 
Naturally  irritable,  though  kind,— naturally  suspicious,  though  gen- 
erous,—the  gold  gradually  became  dim,  and  the  moet  fine  gold 
changed,  or,  if  not  changed,  overcast  and  clouded.  The  deep  heart 
was  still  beating,  but  it  was  beneath  a  dark  and  melanchohr  mail 
between  whose  joints,  however,  sometimes  the  slighest  arrows  found 
entranc  and  power  of  giving  pain.  He  received  no  consolation  in 
his  last  years,  nor  in  his  death.  Cut  off  in  great  pan  from  all  so* 
ciety,— first,  by  labour,  and  at  last  by  sickness,— hunted  to  his  grave 
by  the  malignities  of  small  critics,  and  the  jealousies  of  hopeless 
rivalry,  he  died  in  the  house  of  a  stranger,— one  companion  of  his 
life,  and  one  only,  staying  with  him  to  the  last.  The  window  of 
his  death-chamber  was  turned  towards  the  west,  and  the  «un  shone 
ugon  his  face  in  its  setting  and  rested  there,  as  he  expired.- 

AKOISHT  ABT  BEUOIOITS — UODBRJf  ART  FBOFANa. 

120.  This  is  the  great  and  broad  fact  which  distinguishes  mod- 
em art  from  old  art;  that  all  ancient  art  was  reliffunu,  and  all 
modern  art  is  profane.  Once  more,  your  patience  for  an  instant.  I 
say,  all  ancient  art  was  religious;  that  is  to  say,  religion  was  its  first 
object;  private  luxury  or  pleasure  its  second.  I  say,  all  modern 
art  IS  profane;  that  is,  private  luxury  or  pleasure  is  its  first  object; 
religion  its  second.  Now  you  all  know,  that  anything  which  makes 
religion  its  second  object,  makes  religion  no  object.  God  will  put  up 
with  a  great  many  things  in  the  human  heart,  but  there  is  one  thing 
he  will  not  put  up  with  in  it— a  second  place.  He  who  offers  God 
aseoond  place,  offers  him  no  place.  And  there  is  another  mighty 
truth  which  you  all  know,  that  he  who  makes  religion  his  first  ob- 
ject, makes  it  his  whole  object:  he  has  no  other  work  in  the  world 
than  God  s  work.  Therefore  I  do  not  say  that  ancient  art  was  more 
religious  than  modem  art.  There  is  no  question  of  degree  in  this 
"^^SL-^*^®"*  religious  art;  modem  art  is  profane  art* 

•nd  between  the  two  the  distinction  is  as  firm  as  between  Udit  and 
darimes.— £eet  IV.  *^ 


REUaiOVS  UQHT  IN  AROSITEOTURE        tf  t 

BOW  BAFHiWi  lUIKID  TBS  Vmctm  OV  AR. 

125.  So  justly  have  the  Pre-Hnj !  lelites  cho8en  their  time  and 
name,  that  the  great  chanRe  which  cloud«  the  career  of  tnediwal  art 
was  affcctt  d  not  only  in  Raphael's  time,  but  by  Raphiiers  own  prao- 
tice,  and  by  hu  practice  in  the  very  centre  of  hi$  avaUabU  life. 

You  rMMmbw,  doabtlesa,  what  high  gnmnd  we  have  for  placina 
the  begmnmg  of  human  intellectual  strength  at  about  the  age  of 
twelve  years. »  Assume,  therefore,  this  period  for  the  beginninir 
of  Raphael  a  strength.  He  died  at  thirty-aeven.  And  in  his  twent^ 
fifth  year,  one  half-year  only  passed  the  precise  centre  of  his  avaU- 
able  life,  he  was  sent  for  to  Rome,  to  decorate  the  Vatican  for  Pope 
Juhus  II.,  and  havm§  until  that  time  worked  exclusively  in  the 
ancient  and  stern  mediteval  manner,  he,  in  tlM  flnt  chamber  whidi 
he  decorated  in  that  paleoe,  wrote  vpim  iti  waU  the  JTmm,  T9h«K 
Upharnn,  of  the  Arts  of  Christianity. 

And  he  wrote  it  thus:  On  one  wall  of  that  chamber  he  placed  a 
picture  of  the  World  or  Kingdom  of  Theology,  presided  over  by 
Chriet.  And  on  the  side  wall  of  that  same  chamber  he  placed  the 
World  or  Kingdom  of  Poetry,  presided  over  by  Apollo.  And  from 
that  spot  and  from  that  hoar,  tiie  intdleet  aiM  the  art  of  Italy  date 
their  denadation. 

126.  Observe  the  significance  ot  this  fact  is  not  in  the  mere 
use  of  the  figure  of  the  heathen  god  to  indicate  the  domain  of  poetry. 
Such  a  symbolical  use  had  been  made  of  the  figures  of  heathen 
deities  in  the  best  times  of  Christian  art.  But  it  is  in  the  fact,  that 
being  called  to  Rome  especially  to  adorn  the  palace  of  Hm  so-called 
head  of  the  church,  and  called  as  the  chief  represented  of  the 
Christian  artists  of  his  time,  Raphael  had  neither  religion  nor  origin- 
ality enough  to  trace  the  spirit  of  poetry  and  the  spiift  of  r  hilo8<K)hy 
to  Uie  inspiration  of  the  true  God,  as  well  as  that  of  th<  alogy;  bu' 
that,  on  the  contrary,  he  elevated  the  ereationii  of  f  ,cy  on  th* 
one  wall,  to  the  same  rank  <u  ttus  object  of  faith  upon  the  other; 
that  in  deliberate,  balanced,  opposition  to  the  Rock  of  the  Mount 
Zion,  he  reared  the  rock  of  Parnassus,  and  the  rock  of  the  Acropolis; 
that,  among  the  masters  of  poetry  we  find  him  enthroning  Petrarch 
and  Pindar,  but  not  Isaiah  nor  David,  and  for  lords  over  the  do- 
main of  philosophy  we  find  the  masters  of  the  school  of  Athens,  but 
neither  of  those  greater  masters  hy  the  last  of  whor^  that  school  was 
rebuked, — those  who  received  their  wisdom  from  heaven  ilNlf,  is 
the  vision  of  Gibeon,''  and  the  lightning  of  Damascus. 

127.  The  doom  of  the  arts  of  Europe  went  from  that  chamber, 
and  it  was  brought  about  in  great  part  by  the  very  excellencies  of 
the  man  who  had  thus  marked  the  commencement  of  decline.  The 
perfection  of  execution  and  the  beauty  of  feature  whidi  woe  tA- 

tLate  ii.  48.  «. 
■1  Kilixi.  W.  B. 


f  THE  MMUOiOV  or  RV8K1N 

aAt: W 's^,    ,«*i52;  til 

And  Ml  told  you,  these  an  the  two  amndary  eaoaei  of  th.  <U. 

^nd  again,  in  medueval  art,  truth  5'fSt 
tmafj  Noond;  in  modern  art  beauty  ia  fint.  truth  aMond  t£ 
medieval  principles  led  up  to  Raplai.  •SaJ^Sw^SJ  •  i 
iMd  doton  from  him.— Lac*.  IV.  wOtm  prmaplaa 

DB8PI8B  HOT  On  twm, 

and  in«,lencf  of  youth  are^monW 
SLe^tS  nJ??  Youtfi  never  yet  lost  fts  mo£^ 

Wb«e  age  had  not  lost  its  honour;  nor  did  childhood  ever  refuwite 
reverence  except  where  age  had  forgotten  correction    tIm  erv^'a! 

heChe  p^^ir  "L"lr".*"  feard^irJEfliS  whi?h"S;neS! 
^n!?  iul  P'*?®?*'  See  that  ye  detpiae  not  one  of  these  little  ones  " 

'«»™«  despisable,  when  its^eer 
JSti  n?r?Sl"'^  presumption,  and  its  progressive  power  int?S' 

IK,*  judgment  nor  gentieness,  which  is  wei 

Without  chanty,  and  cold  without  diacrotkm,— 4d2m£  to 


THE  TWO  PATHa 
OmVoft.  Fnra  LMTmuM.  (lUM.) 
Theiabi«cti  of  Umm  ftn  ketam  m  r  n    iwly,  as  foUowa: 

I.  The  Deteriorativo  Powar  <,f  i^ofviitioiMl  Art 

II.  The  Unity  of  Art. 

III.  Modern  Manufacture  and  Deaign. 

IV.  The  Influenoe  <tf  Imagination  in  Arcliitaetait. 

V.  Tha  Work  of  Ifoa,  in  Natnra,  Art,  and  Pblief . 

Mr.  Raskin  says  Jiat  "though  spoken  at  different  times"  they  are 
"intentionally  connected  in  subject."  They  possess  the  advantage, 
for  the  avwage  reader,  <rf  a  popular  style  and  language,  and  are 
brimful  of  instruction  end  intereat  to  whoever  will  receive  them. 

The  following  selectiona  are  1^  no  means  all  that  we  are  taiqplad 
to  give,  but  they  must  serve  our  purpose  in  this  volume. 

MOHAL  QUALITIES  IN  ABT. 

•  P®P«"<J"Pon  :he  first  universal  characteristic  of  all  great  art 
IS  Tendernefs,  as  tb  econd  is  Truth.  I  find  this  more  and  more 
every  dav:  a  a  Difinitude  of  tenderness  is  the  chief  _gift  and  inherit- 
ance of  all  1  tie  truly  great  men.  It  is  sure  to  inToIre  •  rdative  in- 
tensity  of  q'  l,iin  towards  base  things,  and  an  appearance  of  stem- 
>i  and  arro)/'ince  in  the  eves  ,  ;  lUl  hard,  stupid,  and  vulgar  peo- 
pie^-quite  terrific  to  such,  if  they  are  capable  of  terror,  and  hateful 
to  them,  if  they  are  capable  of  nothing  higher  than  hatred.  Dante's 
is  the  great  type  of  this  claas  of  mind.  I  say  the  first  inheritance  is 
Tenderness — the  second  Truth,  because  the  Tenderness  ia  in  the  make 
of  the  creature,  the  Truth  in  his  acquired  habits  and  knowledge; 
besides,  the  love  comes  first  in  dignity  as  well  as  in  time,  and  taat 
ia  alwaya  pore  and  oomplete:  the  trath,  at  beat,  imperfect— £m<.  /. 

ART  IS  LIFE. 

45.  Great  art  is  nothing  else  than  the  type  of  strong  and  noble  life ; 
for,  as  ^e  ignoble  person,  in  his  dealings  with  all  that  occurs  in  the 
world  aboDt  him,  nrst  sees  nothing  clearly, — looks  nothing  fairly  in 

m 


»74  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

the  face,  and  then  allows  himself  to  be  swept  away  by  the  tmmnlin. 
orrent  and  uneseapable  force  of  the  thin|s  thafhJW^d^Stt 
see,  and  could  not  understand:  so  the  noble  person  lookinVf>t 
£«*fltv  fathomS^??h;m°;feS^ 

46  Thus  in  human  life  you  have  the  two  fields  of  rightful  toil  for 
*V'*'°EJ^i!**'  associated;  Truth  fi^San  or  dl 

«i!r'/fr    •  f  T?'     ^  the  same  two  fields  fo^ 

PtJRPOBB  AND  MOTIVE  DETEKMINE8  OUB  VALUE, 

49.  You  have  the  trial  of  yourselves  in  your  own  power-  each 
^7  his  own  judgmeKat  ?he 

ordeal  by  fie  Ask  yourselves  what  is  the  leadinrmotive  wh  ch 
actuates  you  while  you  are  at  worlc  I  do  not  ask%r  what  vour 
leading  motive  is  for  working-that  is  a  diflFerent  thing:  vou  S 
have  families  to  support-parents  to  Leip-brides  to  wiS  yoS  ^y 

*h«  ml        V^^^''  '"f^  '^'''^  """^  prominent  m^iy«f  tSp^ 
the  morning's  labour  and  prompt  the  twilight  thought.   But  whS 
you  are  fairly     the  work,  what  is  the  motive  then  which  teSL  JdS 
i7  S  1^^'V^    ^  ^hich  your  wirk  ^rS 

^L^if,^  ff  te'^'^'PI  P*'°*'^'  ^  °f  hills  and  Ss  that 
hnZJ^:7lL^  ^«       of  human  beauty  and 

£  w  «nJ  that  moves  you-if  being  a  flower  or  animal  painter,  it 
?on^L^?7«  ^""^  '^'"S^*  ?^tal  and  in  limb  mov« 
^L,'  f  ?  ^®  S*'."  "P°.°  y°"'  ^n'i  tl^e  earth  is  yours,  and  thef^ 
ness  thereof.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  petty  self-complacency 
m  your  own  skill,  trust  in  precepts  and  laws,  hope  for  aSSo^ 

K^iidJffiSSi^V  "''"t'?^  wealth,-it  is%uite  poSSe  thai 
.Li  °'        hy  fortunate  chance,  you  may  wm  the 

P^'^S'"'  the  fortune,  that  you  desire  ;-but  one^S 
of  true  art  you  will  never  lay  on  canvas  or  on  stone  as  long  a«yS 

ofW  jf^If''^.  r"'"  ''P"'^'  ^'^'y  «)nsciously,  for  one  way  or 
other  It  mtMf  he  made.  On  the  dark  and  dangerobi  side  iu5  S  tS 

fo  ttin**'^  ^^h«hts  in  self^ntemplation-the  indoleSS  wh  ?h 
faSL  nmn^rS"^  fonn»-the  ignorance  that  despises  what  S 
mS^lC  fn^T?"^  '  creatures,  and  the  dulness  that  denies  what  S 
marvellous  m  His  working:  there  is  a  life  of  monotony  for  vour  wra 
ouls,  and  of  misgtiiding  for  those  of  others.  And,  on  the  other  sid? 
IS  open  to  your  choice  the  life  of  the  crowned  4)irit;  mCS 


BEU010V8  LIOBT  IN  AROHITBCTVRB  .75 

list  always-illuminating  always,  gaining 

yft.^'^ed  down  every  hour  into  d^SThu- 
T  °'  if  aim,  sure  of  being  irresistibfe^hi  ite 

progress;  happy  m  what  it  has  securely  done-happSlnwhat  dir 

riJAt  ^pp'«^ theffoi  if  life, 

the  right  hand  begms  to  foicet  its  cunning,  to  remember  that  Ae^ 

iaZroi^jL^A^v'^^.^^'^    Sd  but  hS 

added  to  Um  kxumkdgfi  and  qmekened  the  happiness  of  nuinkind.— 

HOW  ABTISTS  ARB  MADE. 

wW  ^ofS^  "5°®"  o'"  manufacture  an  ear  of 

wheat,  as  to  make  a  good  artist  of  any  kind.  I  can  anX«,  the 
^e'y  learnedly  for  you-tell  you^  there  is  sSiTlt  imd 
carbon,  and  silex.  I  can  give  you  sterch,  and  charrod  wd  flS  • 
but  you  are  as  far  from  your  e^r  of  wheat  a.  youWi«fare  All 
that  can  possiblv  be  done  for  any  one  who  wants  Jan  Vf  Xat  is 
to  show  tfiem  wLre  to  find  grain^  of  wheat,  and  hS^to  sow  them 

^  ir^P"*''"""'  i°  Hea^«°'«  ti^e/the  ears  wiU  comS 
^^♦JWP  come-ground  and  weather  permitting.  So  in  this 
matter  of  making  artiste-first  you  must  find  youf  artist  ^ 

T'*  P^""*         ^e°««        weid  the  add  diMl 
gel  an  artut  oat  of  him— not  otherwiae.— li«cf.m^^  ^ 

RIGHT  THINGS  COME  OF  RIGHT  INIXUBNCES. 

92.  Design  is  not  the  offspring  of  idle  fancy :  it  is  the  studied  resnTf 

fn^il^*"^'      «i«'ign-without  peace  and  pleasuraUen^ 
in  o^pation,  no  design-and  all  the  lectu^ngs,  and  teiK». 
pnses,  and  pnnciplef  of  art,  in  the  world,  are  of  no^M  W 

tTfuHh^?^*  yn,'"!'^        Wpy  influencTirf 

tiful  things.  It  IS  impossible  for  them  to  have  rieht  ideas  abo^ 

or?-i.f      ^^'"^i"  ""PPly  beautiful  incident  and  aS  in  thS- 

W  Vi.  •  their  minds,  refine  their  habits,  and  you  form 
f^JinT"  *^?l'',«'e?'8°s;  b".t  keep  them  illiterate,  uncoiifortSSiL 
?tiU  S  iL^'**'*  ^'1  things,  and  whateVer  ^H^M 

atiU  be  vunous,  vulgar,  and  valodeas.— £«el.  ///.         J  wui 

LIMBS  OF  THR  MIin>. 

in  h^ity'S.It'lIL^Lr^;       Prindple-that,  as  our  bodies,  to  be 
i^„-f^'       .r  9«^T'^lly  exercised,  so  our  minds,  to  be  in  health 
JSf  hSl^"^  cultivated?  You  would  not  cS  fSi  hJdA; 
wiio  had  atRMig  armt  but  was  paralytic  in  hia  feat;  nS  ouTiSS 


*76  THE  RELIGION  OF  BUSKIN 

could  walk  well,  but  had  no  use  of  his  hands;  nor  one  who  could 
see  well,  if  he  could  not  hear.  You  would  not  voluntarily  reduce 
your  bodies  to  any  such  partially  developed  state.  Much  more, 
then,  you  would  not,  if  you  could  help  it,  reduce  your  minds  to  it. 
Now,  your  minds  are  endowed  with  a  vast  number  of  gifts  of  totally 
different  uses — climbs  of  mind  as  it  were,  which,  if  you  don't  exer- 
cise, you  cripple.  One  is  curiosity ;  that  is  a  gift,  a  capacity  of  pleas- 
ure in  knowmg;  which  if  you  destroy,  you  make  yourselves  cold 
and  dull.  Another  is  sympathy ;  the  power  of  sharing  in  the  feel- 
ings of  living  creatures,  which  if  you  destroy,  you  make  your- 
selves hard  and  cruel.  Another  of  your  limbs  of  mind  is  admira- 
tion ;  the  poww  of  enjoying  beauty  or  ingenuity,  which,  if  you  de- 
stroy, you  make  yourselves  base  and  irreverent.  AnoUier  is  wit; 
or  me  power  of  playing  with  the  lights  on  the  many  sides  of  truth ; 
which  if  you  destroy,  you  make  yourselves  gloomy,  and  less  useful 
and  cheering  to  others  than  you  might  be.  that  in  choosing  your 
way  of  work  it  should  be  your  aim,  as  far  as  possible,  to  bring  out  all 
these  faculties,  as  far  as  they  exist  in  you;  not  one  merely,  nor  an- 
other, but  all  of  them.  And  the  way  to  bring  them  out,  is  simply 
to  concern  yourselves  attentively  with  the  subjects  of  each  facm^. 
To  cultivate  sympathy  you  must  be  among  living  creatures,  anS 
thinking  about  them;  and  to  cultivate  admiration,  you  most  be 
among  beautiful  things  and  looking  at  them. — Led.  IV. 

EVBBYTHING  WAITS  FOB  THE  ABTI8T. 

visions  of  angels,  to  the  least  important  gesture  of 
a  child  at  play,  whatever  may  be  conceived  of  Divine,  or  beheld  of 
Human,  may  be  dared  or  adopted  by  you:  throughout  the  kingdom 
of  animal  life,  no  creature  is  so  vast,  or  so  minute,  that  you  cannot 
deal  with  It,  or  bring  it  into  service;  the  lion  and  the  crocodile  will 
crouch  about  your  shafts;  the  moth  and  the  bee  will  sun  themselves 
upon  your  flowers;  for  you,  the  fawn  will  leap;  for  you,  the  snail 
be  slow;  for  you,  the  dove  smooth  her  bosom;  and  the  hawk  spread 
her  wings  toward  the  south.  All  the  wide  world  of  vegetation 
blooms  and  bends  for  you ;  the  leaves  tremble  that  you  may  bid  them 
be  still  under  the  marble  snow;  the  thorn  and  the  thistle,  whidh 
the  earth  casts  forth  as  evil,  are  to  you  the  kindest  servants;  no 
dying  petal,  nor  drooping  tendril,  is  so  feeble  as  to  have  no  more 
help  for  you;  no  robed  pride  of  blossom  so  kingly,  but  it  will  lay 
Mide  its  purple  to  receive  at  your  hands  the  pale  immortality.  Ig 
there  anything  in  common  life  too  mean,— in  common  things  too 
trivial,— to  be  ennobled  by  your  touch?  As  there  is  nothing  in 
life,  so  there  is  nothing  in  lifelessnees  which  has  not  its  lawm  for 
you,  or  its  gift;  and  when  you  are  tired  of  watching  the  strength 
of  the  plume,  and  the  tenderness  of  the  leaf,  you  may  mdk  down  to 
your  rough  river  dnn^  at  into  tin  thieksrt  ma^eti  of  your  ^w- 


REUGIOVS  UQHT  IN  ABCHITBCTVBE  *n 

ooghfares,  and  there  is  not  a  piece  of  torn  cable  that  will  not  twine 
into  a  perfect  moulding;  there  is  not  a  fragment  of  cast-away  mat- 
ting, or  shattered  basket-work,  that  will  not  work  into  a  chequer  or 
capital.  Yes:  and  if  you  gather  up  the  very  sand,  and  break  the 
atone  on  which  you  tread,  among  its  fragments  of  all  but  invisible 
shells  you  wiU  find  forms  that  will  tdce  their  place,  and  that 
ptm^l^^iimong  the  starred  traceries  of  your  vaulting;  and  you,  who 
can  crown  the  mountain  with  its  fortress,  and  the  city  with  its  tow- 
MB,  are  thus  d>le  also  to  give  beauty  to  ashes,  and  worthineos  to 
amk  -  Lsrf.  IV. 


XOBAL  VVm  OF  STMPATHY  IN  ABT. 

132.  Don't  fancy  that  you  will  lower  yourselves  by  sympathy  with 
lower  creatures;  you  cannot  synmathize  rightly  with  the  hi^er,  un- 
less you  do  with  those:  but  you  have  to  sympathise  with  the  higher, 
too— with  quetns,  and  kings,  and  martyrs,  and  angels.  Yes,  and 
above  all,  and  more  than  all,  with  simple  humanity  in  all  its  needs 
and  ways,  for  there  is  not  one  hurried  face  that  passes  you  in  the 
street  that  will  not  be  impressive,  if  you  can  only  fathom  it  All 
history  is  open  to  you,  all  high  thoughts  and  dreams  thai  the  pasl 
fortunes  of  men  can  suggest,  dl  fairy  Umd  is  agea  to  yoo— no  visioift 
that  ever  haunted  forest,  or  gleamed  over  iiill-side,  bat  calls  you  to 
understand  how  it  came  into  men's  hearts,  and  may  still  touch 
them;  and  all  Paradise  is  open  to  you — yes,  and  the  work  of  Para- 
dise; for  in  bringing  all  this,  in  perpetual  and  attractive  truth,  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  your  fellow-men,  you  have  to  join  in  Uie  employ- 
fli«it  of  UM  angus,  as  wdl  as  to  imagine  their  fftmpaniwi — Ltttit. 

FIBST  THINQB  FIB8T. 

135.  Men  of  strong  passions  and  imi^notions  must  care  a  great 
deal  for  anything  they  care  for  at  all;  but  the  whole  question  is  one 
of  first  or  second.  Does  your  art  lead  you,  or  your  gain  lead  you? 
You  may  like  making  money  exceedingly ;  but  if  it  come  to  a  fair 
quMtion,  whether  you  are  to  make  five  hundred  pounds  less  by  this 
business,  or  to  spoil  your  building,  and  you  choose  to  spoil  your 
building,  there's  an  end  of  you.  So  you  may  be  as  thirsty  for  famo 
•S  ft  ericket  is  for  cream ;  but,  if  it  come  to  a  fair  question,  whether 
yon  an  to  please  the  mob,  or  do  the  thing  as  you  know  it  ought 
lo  be  done;  and  you  cant  do  both,  and  choose  to  please  the  mob, 
it's  all  over  with  you — there's  no  hope  for  you ;  nothing  that  you  can 
do  will  ever  be  worth  a  man's  glance  as  he  passes  by.  The  test  is 
absolute,  inevitable — Is  your  art  first  with  you?  Then  you  are  art- 
ists ;  you  may  bo,  after  you  have  made  your  money,  misers  and  usur- 
ers ;  you  may  be,  after  you  have  got  your  fun^  jMlona,  and  proud, 
and  wretched,  and  base;  but  yet,  as  long  m  |^  won't  ipou  yem 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


work,  you  are  artists.  On  the  other  hand — Is  your  money  first  with 
you  and  your  fame  first  with  you?  Then,  you  may  be  very 
charitable  with  your  money,  and  very  magnificent  with  yoiir  money, 
and  very  graceful  in  the  way  you  wear  your  reputation,  and  very 
courteous  to  thoae  beneath  you,  and  voy  yn««>ptablfl  to  thoM  abova 
you ;  but  yoa  aie  not  arti»t$^Ltet.  IV. 


NOBLENESS  IN  THE  AOED. 

137.  But  above  all,  accustom  yourselves  to  look  for,  and  to  love,  all 
nobleness  of  gesture  and  feature  in  the  human  form ;  and  remember 
that  the  highest  nobleness  is  usually  among  the  aged,  the  poor,  and 
the  infirm ;  yon  will  find,  in  the  end,  that  it  is  not  the  strong  arm  of 
the  soldier,  nor  the  laugh  of  the  young  beauty,  that  are  the  best 
studies  for  you.  Look  at  them,  and  look  at  them  reverently ;  but  be 
assured  that  endurance  is  nobler  than  strength,  and  patience  than 
beauty;  and  that  it  is  not  in  the  high  church  pews,  where  the  gay 
dresses  are,  but  in  the  church  free  seats,  where  the  widows'  weeds 
cure,  that  you  may  see  the  faces  that  will  fit  best  between  the  angels' 
wingi,  in  the  dinrch  p<mdi.— £ee<.  IV. 


JUSTICE  TO  SUBORDINATES. 

139.  I  do  not  say  that  you  are  to  surrender  your  pre-eminence  in 
mere  unselfish  generosity.  But  say  that  you  must  surrender  your 
pre-eminence  in  your  love  of  your  building  helped  by  your  kind- 
ness ;  and  that  whomsoever  yon  find  better  able  to  do  what  will  adom 
it  than  you, — ^that  person  ^ou  are  to  give  place  to ;  and  to  console 
yourselves  for  the  humiliation,  first,  by  your  joy  in  seeing  the  edifice 
grow  mor  -  beautiful  under  his  chisel,  and  secondly,  by  your  sense 
of  having  done  kindly  and  justly.  But  if  you  are  morally  strong 
enough  to  make  the  kindness  and  justice  the  first  motive,  it  will 
be  better; — best  of  all,  if  you  do  not  consider  it  as  kindness  at  all, 
but  bare  and  stern  justice ;  for,  truly,  such  help  as  we  can  give  each 
other  in  this  world  via  debt  ija  each  odier ;  and  me  man  who  perceives 
a  euperiority  or  a  capacity  in  a  subordinate,  and  neither  confesses, 
nor  assists  it,  is  not  merely  the  withholder  of  kindness,  but  the  com- 
mitter of  injury.  But  be  the  motive  what  you  will,  only  see  that 
you  do  the  *hing ;  and  take  the  joy  of  the  consciousness  that,  as  your 
art  embraces  a  wider  field  than  all  others — and  addresses  a  vaster 
multitude  than  all  others — and  is  surer  of  audience  than  all  others 
— ao  it  is  prof ounder  and  holier  in  Fellowship  than  all  otfieis.  The 
artist,  when  his  pupil  is  perfect,  must  see  him  leave  his  side  tiiat  he 
may  declare  his  distinct,  perhaps  opponent,  skill.  Man  of  science 
wrestles  with  man  of  science  for  priority  of  discovery,  and  pursues 
in  pangs  of  jealous  haste  bis  solitary  inquiry.  You  alone  are  called 
by  kindness, — by  neoeasity, — ^by  equity,  to  fraternity  of  toil;  and 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  $19 

Aufl,  in  thoee  miaty  and  massive  piles  which  rise  above  the  domeati« 
xoofs  of  our  ancient  cities,  there  iw-there  nS^Ti  kSi^ll  m«„ 

Ssss'ti^r'^r*'  thSrnVsoSS^nirs 

•nM&ed  to  them.  Men  say  their  pinnacles  point  to  heaven. 
BO  does  every  treo  that  buds,  and  every  bir/ that  risw  iHt 
Men  say  their  aisJes  are  good  for  woisl^.  Why  so  kVv^r? mon?" 
xain  glen  and  rough  seashore.  But^  thw  feJ! 

SSLS^Ld!;*  «li  ^7  .™«?»,^r-'e  and  aid  each  other  in  the2 
weakne8s,--thi».t,  all  their  mterkcu  .j  strength  of  vaulted  stone 
ito  foundabon  upon  the  stronger  a/ches  of  manWeUowS  id 
aU  their  changing  grace  of  depressed  or  mted  lin^^J^ 
gdence^and  completeness  to  s^^«u  symmJiS  S  h^^Sdi!: 

THB  MORAL  VALVB  OF  WORK. 

174.  A  happy  nation  may  be  defined  as  one  in  which  the  hi»h.n^'. 
hand  IS  on  tte  plough,  ani  the  housewife's  Sn  the^i^^.w  Mi 
tmie  reaping  its  golSen  harvest,  and  shining  in  g^ldrvit^""  and 
an  unhappy  nation  is  one  wUch,  acknowl^gin?no  ^^0^10^22 
nor  reedle  wid  assuredly  at  kst  find  ito  SSi^^ia  £ 

'a^ine,  and  ita  breast  naked  to  the  cold.  ui  Um 

170.  Tne  ^ter  pan  of  the  suflFering  and  crime  which  exist  aI 

0'  hefveTinnSS  Jith^uS 
when  they  have  not  wovSn/  ^^'^'^  f urroiwd,  and  be  wum 

fJi^A^tlfy^^"^^'  it-  if  food,  you  must  toU 

2Li  »w.  I  ^""^  But  men  do  not  acKl- 

edge  this  la  v  or  stnve  to  evade  it,  hoping  to  eet  their  knowU 

SSf^Sw,  Iif        -^T'  ignorant  and  miserable,  or 

SS  51^5^**?  making  other  men  i^rk  for  their  benefit  and 
SfnSYnfLf^*?!.'"?  '^Vl  Yes,  and  wcrse  than  robbera  I 
ISlSiln  l«««rt,^oubts  or  dis        the  progress  of  this 

eentwy  in  .manythmgs  useful  M  mankii  .ut  .t  ser^g  to  me  • 
JSlS       "^ting  us  that  we  look  v_  so  nuch  indiffeSooI 

?t         ^]lSI^^  «^  "2  ?™«I^our  avarice,  ffiS 

^B«sma  a«  ii^  in  iM,  the  A«ar<  were  part  of  iron,  and  part  of  oliy.^ 

OPPBBSSION'  or  THS  POOB. 

miff-iSk  ^f*  ^  often  in  those  part«  of  the 

KI^  which  are  hkely  to  b.  t«p«irf  »||«  pwpb  took  feiu^^ 


•So  THE  RELIGION  OF  RV8KIN 

comfort,  or  help  in  the  affairs  of  daily  life,  namely,  the  Psalms  and 
Ih:t>verbe,  mention  is  made  of  the  gu  '  t  attaching  to  the  Opprestion  of 
the  poor.  Observe:  not  the  neglect  of  them,  but  the  Oojyreation  of 
them :  the  word  is  as  frequent  as  it  k  strange.  You  can  hardly  open 
ei^er  book,  bat  lomewhere  in  their  pages  you  will  find  a  descripaon 
«f  the  widced  man's  attempts  against  the  poor:  sach  as — "He  doth 
lavish  the  poor  when  he  getteth  him  into  his  net." 

"He  sitteth  in  the  lurking  places  of  the  villages;  his  eyes  are 
privily  set  against  the  poor." 

"In  hia  pride  he  doth  persecute  the  poor,  and  blesseth  the  covet- 
ous, whom  God  abhorreth." 

"His  mouth  is  full  of  deceit  and  fraud;  in  the  secret  places  doth 
he  murder  the  innocent.  Have  the  woricers  of  iniquity  no  knowl- 
edge, who  eat  up  my  people  as  they  eat  bread?  They  have  drawn 
out  the  sword,  and  bent  the  bow,  to  cast  down  the  poor  and  needy." 

"They  are  corrupt,  and  speak  wickedly  concerning  oppression. 

"Pride  oompasseth  them  about  as  a  dbain,  and  violence  as  a  gar- 
ment." 

"Their  poiaon  is  like  the  poison  of  a  aerpent  Ye  weigh  the  vio« 
knee  id  your  handa  in  the  earth."-- £«e(.  r. 

WEIOH  THB  WORDS  OF  THS  BIBU. 

180.  "Ye  wei^  the  violence  of  your  hands:" — ^weieh  these  words 
as  well.  The  last  things  we  ever  usually  think  of  weighing  are  Bible 
words.  We  like  to  dr»un  and  dispute  over  them ;  but  to  weigh  them, 
•nd  see  what  their  true  contents  are — anything  hat  that.  Yet,  welg^ 
these;  for  I  have  purposely  taken  all  these  verses,  perhaiM  more 
etriking  to  you  read  in  this  connection,  than  separately  in  their 
places,  out  of  the  Psalms.  Now,  do  we  ever  ask  ourselves  what  the 
real  meaning  of  these  passages  may  be,  and  who  these  wicked  people 
ere,  who  are  "murdering  the  iunocent?"  You  know  it  is  rather  sm- 
guUur  langui^  this! — rather  strong  language,  we  might,  perhaps, 
oidl  it — hearing  it  for  the  fiitt  time.  Murder  1  nnd  murder  of  in- 
nocent pec^Iel — nay,  even  a  aort  of  cannibalism.  Eating  pecmie,— 
yes,  ana  God's  people,  too— eating  My  people  as  if  they  were  bread! 
swords  drawn,  bows  bent,  poiaon  of  serpents  mixed  I  violence  of  hands 
weighed,  measured,  and  trafficked  with  as  so  much  coin!  where  is 
ell  this  going  on?  Do  you  suppose  it  was  only  going  on  in  the  time 
of  David,  and  that  nobody  but  Jews  ever  murder  we  poor?  If  so, 
it  would  surely  be  wiser  not  to  mutter  and  mumble  for  our  dail^ 
l—ona  whi^  does  not  etmeem  us;  but  if  there  be  any  chance  that  it 
mav  eoneem  as,  and  if  this  description,  in  the  Fnlms,  of  hnman 

Eiiilt  is  at  all  generally  explicable,  as  the  descriptions  in  the  Psalms  of 
uman  sorrow  are,  may  it  not  be  advisable  to  know  wherein  this 
guilt  is  being  committea  round  about  as,  or  by  ourselves?  and  when 
we  take  the  words  of  the  Bible  into  our  mouths  in  a  congregational 


BMMQlOVa  UQHT  IN  ABOHITECTVRE  sSc 

waj,  to  be  Mm  wbnAm  w  maan  merely  to  dunt  a  piece  of  mdo* 
dknu  poetry  lelsting  to  othw  jMopIe— (we  know  not  exactly  to 
whom)— or  to  avert  oar  belief  in  facts  bMrine  somewhat  string- 
ently oo  durselyes  and  our  daily  business.  And  if  you  make  up  your 
mindi  to  do  this  no  longer,  and  take  pains  to  exao-ine  into  the  mat- 
ter, you  will  find  that  these  strange  words,  occurring  as  they  do,  aot 
in  a  few  places  only,  but  almoat  in  every  altmiato  paalm  and  omr 
4ltemato  ehapter  of  proverb,  or  prophecy,  witii  tremendous  leitera- 
wm,  w«e  not  written  for  one  nation  or  one  time  only;  but  for  all 
nationa  and  languages,  for  all  places  and  all  centi^ries;  and  it  is  as 
true  of  the  wicked  man  now  as  ever  it  «h  «I  IUmI  at  Divw,  thai 
'"his  eyes  are  set  against  the  poor." 

181,  Set  aoaiiut  the  poor,  mind  you.  Not  merely  set  away  from  the 
poor,  80  aa  to  neglect  or  lose  s^bt  of  them,  bat  set  against,  so  as  to 
afflict  and  destroy  them.  This  is  the  main  point  I  want  to  fix  your 
attention  upon.  You  will  often  hear  sermons  about  neglect  or  care- 
lessness of  the  i^ooT.  But  neglect  and  carelessness  are  not  at  aU  the 
points.  The  Bible  hardly  ever  talks  about  neglect  of  the  poor.  It 
iJwajm  talks  of  oppreuion  of  the  poor — a  very  different  matter.  It 
does  not  merely  speak  of  passing  by  on  the  other  side,  and  binding 
vp  no  wounds,  but  of  drawing  tiie  sword  and  ourselves  smiting  tha 
men  dov  ^  It  does  not  charge  us  with  being  idle  in  the  pest-house, 
amd  giving  no  medieiiie,  bat  with  being  buqr  in  the  pest-house,  and 
jMBg  modi  fomm.  Xesi  F. 

WHY  TBI  POOB  an  POOB  AMD  ROW  THR  ABI  0PPRB8SSD. 

185.  There  v»ill  always  be  in  the  world  some  who  are  not  ^together 
intelligent  and  exemplary ;  we  shall,  I  believe,  to  the  end  o  time  find 
the  majority  somewhat  unintelligent,  a  little  inclined  to  be  idle,  and 
ooeasionally,  on  Saturday  nidbt,  drunk ;  we  must  even  be  prepared  to 
hear  of  reprobates  who  uke  skittles  on  Sunday  morning  better  thui 

Erayeis;  and  of  unnatural  parents  who  mud  iimt  ^^/ina  ont  to 
eg  instead  of  to  go  to  school. 

186.  Now  these  are  the  kind  of  people  whom  you  can  oppress,  and 
whom  you  do  oppress,  and  that  to  purpose, — and  with  all  the  mora 
«raeltv  and  the  greater  sting,  because  it  is  just  their  own  fault  that 
puts  them  into  your  power.  Yon  know  the  words  about  wicked  peo- 

?le  are,  "He  doth  ravish  the  poor  when  he  getteth  him  into  hi$  net." 
'his  getting  into  the  net  is  constantly  the  fault  or  folly  of  the  sof- 
farer — his  own  heedlessness  or  his  own  indolence;  but  after  he  is 
once  in  the  net,  the  oppression  of  him,  and  mdcing  the  most  of  his 
disttasB,  ate  oaia.  Hie  nets  which  we  rue  again&t  the  poor  arc  jost 
Hum  wotld^  ccabamssnMnts  whidi  either  ueir  ignonnoe  or  their 
iiqttoviiiauos  axa  aliDost  oartain  at  smds  time  or  oUmc  to  bring 


&5 


I 


J;!' 


vfir 


sta 


n»  BBUOION  OF  RVSKIN 


THE  MOBALS  OF  SPECULATION. 

lutiin  IL^.  "•nsidering  at  present  the  various  modes  in  which  a 
S!£2n^S^?£,/Sf^''  f^J^O'ledging  the  eternal  connection 

SSr!!?  **■  P-  PleMure;— by  striving  to  get  pleasure 

€l  doing  so  IS  to  try  to  get  the  product  of  other  people's  -ork,  anS 
ourselves,  by  cheapening  their  labour  in  times  distieas- 
then  the  second  way  is  that  grand  one  of  watching  the  SScm 
liSl.S!!![hiiT*^'  ^peculation.  Of  course  tlere  are  some 

^peculations  that  are  fair  anrfhonest-epeculations  made  with  our 
own  money,  and  which  do  not  involve  in  their  success  the  loss,  by 
others,  of  what  we  gain.  But  generally  modem  speculation  in- 
Tolves  much  nsk  to  others,  with  chance  of  profit  only  to  oursSvS- 
even  in  its  best  conditions  it  is  merely  one  of  the  forms  of  gambW 

treasure  hunting;  it  is  either  leaving  the  steady  plough 
Sft^  ?t'PluT  1?^       tolook  fop  5lver  minei  feidfthe  way* 
2^^-  Iiwf  ^^"  ^  dice-tables  in  Vanity  Fair-iJ: 

t^oughte  and  pass  ons  of  the  soul  in  the  fall  of  the 
«wl«,  and  dioosmg  rather  the  wild  accidents  of  idle  fortune  than 
the  calm  and  accumulative  rewards  of  toil.  And  this  is  destructive 
enough,  at  least  to  our  peace  and  virtue.  But  it  is  usually  dflstructive 
of  far  mora  thanovrpeaoe,  or  our  Tirta«r-^L«ef.  F.  ' 

xoBAi.  VALiw  or  BBmnUZNT. 

»« however  great  or  powerful,  was  ever  so  free 
A        I^®™  "  something  that  he  must,  or  must  not  do- 

while  the  fish  may  do  whatever  he  likes.  All  the  kingdoms  of  the 
world  put  together  are  not  half  so  large  as  the  sea,  and  aU  the  rail- 
way andwheels  that  ever  were,  or  will  be,  invented  are  not  so  easy 
as  fins.   You  will  find,  on  fairly  thinking  of  it,  that  it  is  his  Re- 
stramt  wbicb  is  honourable  to  man,  not  his  Liberty;  and,  what  is 
J"  ff^^^^i*  whicJi  is  honourable  even  in  the  lower  animals 
A  butterfly  13  much  more  free  than  a  bee;  but  you  honour  the  bee 
more,  just  becarse  it  is  subject  to  certain  laws  which  fit  it  for  orderly 
function  m  bee  society.  And  throughout  the  world,  of  the  two  alv- 
atract  things,  liberty  and  restraint,  restraint  is  always  the  more  hon- 
ourable. It  is  fane,  indeed,  that  in  these  and  all  other  matters  you 
nam  can  reason  finally  from  the  abstraction,  for  both  liberty  and 
Wttraint  are  good  when  they  are  nobly  chosen,  and  both  are  bad 
they  are  basely  chosen;  but  of  tiie  two,  I  repeat,  it  is  restraint 
vbicfa  charactenaea  tiie  higher  creature,  and  betten  the  lower  cnal- 


RELIGIOUS  LIOHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  aSj 
ure:  and,  from  the  miniateriiig  of  Um  archangel  to  the  labour  of 

rtf'^^tejJT"  8lory  orall  creatures,  fnd  111  mttor 
liberty— a  dead  leaf  has  much.  The  dust  of  which  vou  h^nu^ 
h«noUberty.  It.  Uberty  wm  comi^wiUi  iu  wSS^t^^S^j? 

WAB, — HIQHT  OB  WBOKO? 

195.  You  may  be  surprised  at  my  implying  that  war  5ti»lf 
can  be  right,  or  necessary,  or  nobk  at^dl.  w5o  Imik  of  dl 
war  as  necessary,  nor  of  all  war  «i  noble.  Both  iSSco  aSdw„  aVe 
noble  or  ignoble  according  to  their  kind  and  occasW  ifo  mw  h2 
a  profounder  sense  of  the  horror  and  guilt  of  ignoble  war  Sin  ^ 

Si^f^  I  ^°**3«°ation,  as  any  of  those  whom  you  wiU  hearTS. 
tinually  declaiming  in  the  cause  of  peace.  But  peace  may  besoiSht 
m  two  ways.  One  way  is  as  GideaTsought  itVwhen  i  bdjX 
?w  K°  PP^J^'  Pea<=e/'  yet  sought  thTpeaS 

£^  r^^;"^^''  ^T*'^:^''*'  fortryears  in  th^ 

da^  of  Gideon."  And  the  other  way  of  seeking  peace  is  as  Me^ 

Jf  TiC^S.Vt*  1"^*.  Assyria%  thou^d  flSL 

fiw    •  hand  might  be  with  him."   That  i-  you  may 

either  ^n  your  peace,  or  buy  it:-win  it,  by  resistance  tJ  evil^ 
buy  it^by  compromise  with  ivil.  You  may  W  your  peace  with 
«  enced  consciences  ;-you  may  buy  it,  witfi  broken  vo^^ur? 
hliil  M  ''°'4«.-buy  it.  with  base  connivances,-buy  it  with^the 

«ZrS "Li^T P^^'^'  '"^ile  you  sit  smiling  at  yS 

iSs  C^''^^  comfortable  prayers  livening  «id  mS^S" 
IWJ.  JNo  peace  wbs  ever  won  from  Fate  by  subterfuge  or  acTM- 

bv  °4i>^'^r  \^  tJ^^t  ^hich 

lJJln^J!?  *?T*t.°^""'— o^e'  *t«  sin  that  oppresses, 
that  which  corrupts.  For  many  a  year  to  come,  the 

TZ!^^^^"^  °**1P°  'Whetted  to  save  or  subdue: 

nor  will  It  be  by  patience  of  others'  suflfering,  but  by  the  offering 
of  your  own,  that  you  ever  will  draw  nearer  to  the  time  when  the 
S!n  HP°°  0'  the  earth;— when  men 

iSSwwt"'"  ^  1°^  ploughshares,  and  their  speara  into 
pmmng-hooks;  neither  ahaU  fliey  kun  war  any  iDoi«.--^Mf.  V 


VI 


TBB  STODT  OF  ABOHITBOTDBl. 
AvBwLT.  (1866.) 

This  is  a  "paper"  which  was  read  before  the  Royal  Institution  of 
British  Architects,  treating  of  the  study  of  Architecture  in  schools, 
and  was  republished,  together  with  a  short  paper  on  "The  Opening 
of  the  Crystal  Palace,"  in  Vol.  I  of  "On  the  Old  Road." 

It  is  quite  different  in  treatment,  and  yet  it  strongly  confirms  the 
leotuiM  on  the  same  subject,  delivered  eleven  years  earlier,  especially 
as  to  the  deterioration  of  Art  when  divorced  from  idigioo.  The  two 
or  three  selections  which  follow  establish  the  truth  of  this  statement: 
—another  testimony  of  the  fact  that  Ruskin  never  dquurted  from 
Truth  as  the  basis  of  Art,  and  of  tha  zwofpitkm  of  thi  DMm  Bo- 
dng  as  the  source  of  truth. 

8UPEB8TITION  AND  NATURALISM. 

I  am  no  Puritan,  and  have  never  praised  or  advocated  Puritanical 
Art.  The  two  pictures  which  I  would  last  part  with  out  of  our  Na- 
tio;  nl  gallery,  £f  there  were  question  of  parting  with  any,  would  be 
IUxud's  Bacchus  and  Corregio's  Venus.  But  the  noble  naturalism 
of  these  was  the  fruit  of  ages  of  previous  courage,  continence,  and 
religion — it  was  the  fulness  of  panion  in  tibe  life  of  a  BrHomart 
But  the  mid  age  and  old  age  of  nations  ib  not  like  the  mid  age  or 
old  age  of  noble  women.  National  decrepitude  must  be  criminal. 
National  death  can  only  be  by  disease,  and  yet  it  is  almost  impoa- 
sible,  out  of  the  history  of  the  art  of  nations,  to  elicit  the  true  con- 
ditions rda^g  to  its  decline  in  any  demonstrable  manner.  The 
history  of  Italian  art  is  that  of  a  struggle  between  superstition  and 
naturalism  on  one  side,  between  continence  and  sensuality  on  an- 
other. So  far  as  naturalism  prevailed  over  superstition,  there  is  al- 
ways  progress;  ao  far  as  sensuality  over  chastity,  death.  And  the 
two  contests  are  simultaneous.  It  is  impossible  to  distinguish  one 
victory  from  the  other.  Observe,  however,  I  say  victory  over  sup«r> 
•tition,  not  over  religion.  Let  me  carefully  define  the  d^erence. 

■«4 


RSLIOIOVS  LIGHT  IN  AROEITBOTUBE  ai§ 

IVVnSTITION  AHD  UUOIOV. 

Snpentition,  in  all  timet  and  among  all  nations,  ia  tbe  fear  of  « 

Smt  whose  paasiona  are  those  of  a  man,  whose  acU  are  the  acta 
a  man;  who  is  present  in  some  Dkoes.  not  in  others:  who  makes 
some  places  holy,  and  not  pthen;  wIm  is  Uad  to  one  person,  unkind 
to  another;  who  is  pleased  or  angry  according  to  the  degree  of  at- 
tention you  pay  to  him,  or  praise  you  refuse  to  him;  who  is  hostile 
fenerally  to  human  pleasure,  but  may  be  bribed  by  sacrifice  of  • 
part  of  that  pleasure  into  permitting  the  zest.  This,  whatever  form 
of  faith  It  colours,  is  the  essence  of  saparstition.  And  relidon  if 
the  belief  m  a  Spirit  whose  mercies  are  om  all  His  works— who  ia 
kind  even  to  the  unthankful  and  the  evU;  who  is  everywhere  pres- 
ent, and  therefore  is  m  no  place  to  be  soudit,  and  in  no  place  to  be 
ev^ed;  to  whom  all  creatures,  times,  and  things  are  everlastindy 
holy,  and  who  claims— not  tithes  of  wealth,  nor  sevenths  of  dayt- 

n      ^-  *****  «i*y»  that  we  live,  and 

all  the  beings  that  we  are,  but  who  claims  that  totality  because  B» 
delights  on  y  m  Ae  delight  of  His  creatures;  and  beoa^,  therefoiv, 
the  one  duty  that  thev  owe  to  Him,  and  the  only  servidi  they  caA 
wnte  Hun.  u  to  be  happv  A  Spirit,  therefore,  whose  eternkl  be- 
atvolenoe  eannot  be  aneei«d,  cannot  be  appeased;  whose  laws  are 
everlasting  and  inexorable,  so  that  heaven  and  earth  must  indeed 
pass  away  if  one  jot  of  them  failed:  laws  which  attach  to  every 
wrong  and  error  a  measured,  inevitable  penalty;  to  every  riehtnew 
and  Pnidence^  assured  reward :  penaltv,  of  which  the  remittance 
cann^be  poiefaaied;  and  riwud,  of  wlOeh  the  promise  eannot  hi 

Religion  devotes  the  artist,  hand  and  mind,  to  the  service  of 
the  gods;  superstition  makes  him  the  slave  of  ecclesiastical  pride, 
or  forbids  his  work  ^together,  in  terror  or  disdain.  Religion  perfects 
the  form  of  the  divine  statue;  superstition  distorts  it  into  ghastly 
grot^ue.  Rehnon  contemplates  the  gods  as  the  lords  of  healini 
and  hfe,  surrounds  them  with  glory  of  affectionate  service,  andfci? 
tivity  of  pure  human  beauty.  Superstition  contemplates  its  idob  aa 
lords  of  death,  appei»es  them  with  blood,  and  vows  itself  to  them 
in  torture  and  solitude.  Religion  proselytizes  by  love,  superstition 
by  war;  religion  teaches  by  example,  fupeistitiin  by  peSecutic^ 
^hgiongavegranite  shrine  to  the  Egyptian,  golden  teSpSTS 

Sf^!i^*?5!ir"^*2L*°  P^"*'^^        and^  frescoed 

waU  to  the  Chnstbn.  Superstition  made  idols  of  the  splendours  by 

JwJ!  f  ?f       T?^^""'--  pictures  and  stones,  insteS 

knedi  in  the  tMnpIe  wlU^ 


•M  THE  RMUaiON  Or  SV8K1N 

■vraMnnovi  wonmr  nmai  nuw  mnDBUTY. 
On  the  other  hind,  to  reason  resisiing  mpottition,  we  owe  th« 
entire  comoau  of  modem  energies  and  seieQCM:  the  healthy  lawi 
of  life,  and  the  possibilities  of  future  progreai.  But  to  hifidelitr 
leeutmg  religion  (or  which  is  often  enough  the  case,  taking  the 
meek  of  it),  we  owe  •eniaality,  cruelty  and  war,  insolence  and 
•▼urice,  modern  political  economy,  life  by  conservation  of  forces, 
•nd  salvaUon  by  every  man's  looking  after  his  own  interests;  and 
generally,  whataoever  of  guilt,  and  folly,  and  death,  them  is  abroad 
among  us.  And  of  the  two,  a  thousand-'old  rather  let  us  rrtain  some 
colour  of  superstition,  so  that  we  ma^  jceep  also  some  strength  of 
religion,  than  comfort  ourselves  with  colour  of  reason  for  the  deeo- 
lation  of  godlessnetl.  I  would  say  to  every  youth  who  entered  our 
gnools— be  a  Mahometan,  a  Diana-worshipper,  a  Fire-worshipper, 
Boot-worshipper,  if  you  will ;  but  at  least  be  so  much  a  man  as  to 
know  what  worship  means.  I  had  rather,  a  million-fold  rather,  see 
you  one  of  those  "quibus  haec  nascuntur  in  hortis  numina,"  than 
one  of  those  quibus  hsec  non  nascuntur  in  cordibus  lumina;  and 
who  are,  by  everlasting  orphanage,  di,^ided  from  the  Father  of  Spir- 
its, who  u  also  the  FMher  of  Ughts,  from  whom  oometh  every  sood 
and  porfect  gift.  ' 


TRUE  MANLINESS. 


So  much  of  man,"  I  say,  feeling  profoundly  that  all  right  ex- 
erciM  of  any  human  gift,  so  descenoed  from  the  Giver  of  good  de- 
pends on  the  primary  formation  of  the-  character  of  true  manli- 
ness m  the  youth,— that  is  to  say,  of  3  majestic,  grave  and  deliberate 
strength.  How  strange  the  words  sound;  how  little  does  it  seem 
possible  to  conceive  of  majesty,  and  gravity,  and  deliberation  in 
the  daily  track  of  modern  life.  Yet,  gentlemen,  we  need  not  hope 
that  our  work  will  be  majestic  if  there  is  no  majesty  in  ourselves. 
The  word  manly"  has  come  to  mean  practically,  among  us,  a 
echooltwy  s  character,  not  a  man's.  We  are,  at  our  best,  thought- 
lessly impetuous,  fond  of  adventure  and  exjitement;  curious  in 
knowledge  for  its  novelty,  not  for  its  system  aisd  results;  faithful 
and  affectionate  to  those  among  whom  w©  are  by  chance  cast,  but 
gently  and  calmly  insolent  to  strangers;  w«  are  stupidly  conscien- 
tious, and  mstinctively  brave,  and  always  ready  to  cast  awuy  the 
uvee  we  take  no  pains  to  make  valuable,  m  causes  of  which  we  have 
never  ascertained  the  justice.  This  is  our  highest  type — notable 
peculiarly  among  nations  for  its  gentleness,  together  with  its  cour- 
age; but  in  lower  conditions  it  is  especially  liable  to  degradation  by 
Its  love  of  just  and  of  vulgar  sensation.  It  ia  a^punst  l£ia  fatal  ten- 
6uutf  to  vile  play  that  we  have  diiefly  to  emtend. 


VII 


VAL  D'  ARNO. 
OxB  Vol.  Tin  Lkctums.  (1878.) 

•MUfofd  Unhrwrity.  They  were  directed  to  the  rabject  of 
Art  and  incidentaUy  treating  of  Tuscan  Hirtory.  His  chai-  a 
Jjcowve  hAbit  «  strikingly  present  in  this  volume.  One  loo- 
taw  ii  on  the  iubject  of  "Franchise."  What  this  has  to  do     h  A. 
generd  subject  it  u  difficult  to  ««;  «,d  yrt,  when  we  read  it  aU. 

i^V'*"'^^""**^?**"  Greek  is  In  the 

^ghto  of  all  three  nations,  the  idea  is  precisely  theMTe  anS  Z 

^llt  J""?,"'  '^^t  °'^v*'^  libertaiH-franchisireci^ 
wcally  translate  each  other.   ...   And  that  common  idet 

? 'Jll'^iwi'""'  "  ^^''^  """^g  you  wiU 

taow,  i.  with  aU  the  >      nations,  mainly  of  deliverance  from  the 

leanied  how  to  rule  our  own  passions;  and  then,  certain  that  our  own 
conduct  IS  right,  to  peniit  hi  that  conduct  against  all  resistance, 
whether  of  counter-opmion,  counter-pain,  or  counter-pleasure.  To 
be  defiant  ahke  of  Uw  mob's  thought,  of  the  adversary's  threat,  and 
toe  harb^'j  t«npt.tion,~thi.  i.  in  the  meaning  of^ery  greai 
tion  to  be  free;  and  the  one  condition  upon  which  that  fxtSota  an 

^'T^t^  to  yo"  ^  a  single  verse  of  the  119th 
PWm,  "I  will  wrik  at  Hberty,  for  I  seek  Thy  precepts." 


MODESTY  AND  PIETY. 


P?*^  beg'M  m  modesty.  You  must  feel  th  -.t  vow  v 
11^  Jk     SI"**"!*'  you  had  better  do  as  you  ai  b'ld  Yo. 

And  yott  wdTfind,  unkM  you  aie  very  unhappy  indeed,  ua    .  Vli 

•87 


You 


M  THE  RELIGION  OP  RUSKIN 

always  a  qaiio  dear  notion  of  right  and  wrong  in  your  minds,  which 
yon  can  either  obey  or  disobey,  at  your  pleasure.  Obey  it  simply 
and  resolutely;  it  will  become  clearer  to  you  every  aaj:  and  in 
obedience  to  it,  you  will  find  a  sense  of  being  in  harmony  with 
nature,  and  at  peace  with  God,  and  all  His  creatures.  You  will  not 
understand  how  the  peace  comes,  nor  even  in  what  it  consists.  It  is 
the  peace  that  passes  understanding; — it  is  just  as  vinonary  and 
imaginative  as  love  is,  and  just  as  real,  and  just  as  necenary  to  the 
life  of  man.  It  is  the  only  source  of  true  cheerfulness,  and  of  true 
common  sense;  and  whether  you  believe  the  Bible,  or  don't, — oi, 
believe  the  Koran,  or  don't, — or  believe  the  Vedas,  or  don't, — it  will 
enable  you  to  believe  in  God,  and  please  Him,  and  be  such  a  part 
of  the  tuSoKia  of  the  universe  as  your  nature  fits  you  to  be,  in 
His  sight,  faithful  in  awe  to  the  powers  that  are  above  you,  and 
gradotts  in  r^ard  to  the  creatures  that  are  around. — Ltd.  IX. 

NATURAL  HISTORY  OP  THE  SOUL. 

226.  But  if  you  will  spend  a  thoughtful  hour  or  two  in  reading 
the  scripture,  which  pious  Greeks  read,  not  indeed  on  daintily 
printed  paper,  but  on  daintily  painted  clay, — if  you  will  examine, 
that  is  to  say,  the  scriptures  of  the  Athenian  religion,  on  their  Pan- 
Atiienaic  vases,  in  their  faithful  days,  you  will  find  tiiat  the  gift  of 
the  literal  xp"'f^>  or  anointing  oil,  to  the  victor  in  the  kingly  and 
visible  contest  of  life,  is  signed  always  with  the  image  of  that  spirit 
or  goddess  of  the  air  who  was  the  source  of  their  invisible  life.  And 
let  me,  before  quitting  this  part  of  my  subject,  give  you  one  piece  of 
what  you  will  find  useful  counsel.  If  ever  f/om  the  right  apothe- 
cary, or  luipormXms,  you  get  any  of  that  wutiui, — don't  be  careful, 
when  you  set  it  ny,  of  looking  I'or  dead  (kagons  or  dead  dogs  in  it. 
But  look  out  for  tiie  dead  flies. 

227.  Again ;  remember,  I  only  quote  8t.  Paul  as  I  ouote  Xeno> 
phon  to  you;  but  I  expect  you  to  get  some  good  from  both.  As  I 
want  you  to  think  what  Xenophon  means  by  "fiavrva,"  so  I  want  you 
In  consider  also  what  St.  Paul  means  by  "rpo^nmui."  He  tells  you  to 
^rove  all  things, — ^to  hold  fast  what  is  good,  and  not  to  dmpise 
"prophesyings. 

228.  Now  it  is  quite  literally  probable,  that  this  world,  haying 
now  for  some  five  hundred  years  absolutely  refused  to  do  as  it  if 
plainly  bid  by  every  prophet  that  ever  spoke  in  any  nation,  and 
naving  reduced  itself  therefore  to  Saul's  condition,  when  he  was 
answered  neither  by  Urim  nor  by  prophets,  may  be  now,  while  you 
sit  there,  receiving  necromantic  answers  from  the  witch  of  Endor. 
But  with  that  possibility  you  have  no  concern.  There  is  a  prophetic 
power  in  your  own  hearts',  known  to  the  Greeks,  known  to  the  Jews, 
known  to  the  Apostles,  and  knowable  by  you.  If  it  is  now  silent  to 
you,  do  not  despise  it  by  tranquillity  under  that  privation;  if  it 
gpmks  to  you,  do  not  deqllso  it  by  disahedience. — Leet.  IX. 


RmJOIOVS  UQHT  IN  ABOHITSCTURB  09 

raonLTTmc. 

°'  religious  ceremonial,  and  the  virtue  of  religious 
toith  conswt  m  the  meek  fulfilment  of  the  one  as  the  fond  habit  of  a 
famUy ;  and  the  meek  acceptance  of  the  other,  as  the  narrow  knowl- 

or  doctrmd  prejudice  beoomea  only  an  occasion  of  sin,  if  thev  make 
°r  <T  "  violent  in  our  methodToTp^ose! 

lytism.  Of  those  who  will  compass  sea  and  land  to  make  one  proselyte. 
It  u  too  generally  true  that  tfiev  are  themselves  the  childreb  of  bSl 
•nd  make  their  proselytes  twofold  mow  so.— Lec«.  IX. 

TBI  ANOQBL'S  ICHSAOB  OW  VMACM. 

^A^^^:  In??  P"^"8®'  so  often  read  hy  us,  which  annonnces  the 
Christianity  as  the  dawn  of  peace  on  earth,  we  habitually 
S!fSl^'?  part  of  the  promise,  owing  to  the  false  translation  of 
v!^!^  iSf^.  °^  sentence.  I  cannot  understand  how  it  should 
rJS         U  *°  *°  Oxford  that  neither  the 

ureeK  words  o'  ai^p<u*o«  €«&>««,"  nor  those  of  the  vuleate.  "in  terra 
pax  hommibus  bonse  voluntatis,"  in  the  slightest  degwejurti^^ 
Enghsh  words,  "good  will  to  men."  ju»uy  gur 

^-SLP^'"  «<><?<*w'l^to  men,  and  to  all  creatures,  for  ever  there 
needed  no  proclamation  by  angels.  But  that  men  shoidd  be  abS 
Xfct^':??'-*^^*         wills  should  be  made  holy,  Ind  C 

254.  And  the  error  was  made  yet  more  fatal  bv  its  renetftkm  in 

by'cbSL'K?  te'^^^rS*' ^^^^^^ 

2^1^?^^?  His  Father,  while  He  had  hidden  what  it  was  best 
to  know,  not  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  but  from  some  amongS 
wise  and  prudent,  and  had  revealed  it  unto  babes:  not  "forlo  it 
■earned  goo  V'  in  His  sight,  but  "that  there  mighVbe  Jiu  pleiVg 
in  His  sight,"_namely.  that  the  wise  and  simplfmight^uSlTliif 
in  the  necessary  knowledge,  and  enjoyed  presence,  of  God.  A^d  if 
SSrT?*"^^  read  these  vital  passages,  you  then  as  carefully 

fi,  M*'""?*'  f  °f  joy  in  the  birth  <rf 

Oinst,  the  Magnificat,  and  the  Nunc  dimittis,  you  wiU  find  the  theme 

app(rinti  the  wielty  and  humbles  the  strength  of  men;  which  scat- 
ters  tUe  proud  m  the  imagination  of  their  hearts;  which  fills  the 


«9o  THE  RELI020N  OF  RVSKIN 

oimamn  or  Komos  ow  itimm  Anoamam. 

veramea  of  Keligion,  needs  no  defence,  and  sosUdna  no  defeat  hv 
the  humours  of  men;  and  our  first  bi^ess  kTrSlion  to  ft  i.^^ 
silence  our  wishes,  and  to  calm  am  fi^wT  t/         u  " 

aiaooeaience  to  it  which  He  permits;  nor  will  vou  rLmM-t  f>,«  i-- 
les..  because,  accepting  only  t£e  obedience  of  K  itSer  hLfev 
punishes,  nor  pompously  rewards,  with  what  mS  S  wwaK 
chastisement  Not  always  under  the  feet  nf  v^u^iT^   J^-  ° 
not  always  at  the  call  o/e^  t£  ctt  eSh^  but  T\,'LT' 

n^cukwi  emmore,  makes  green  the  fields  for  the  evil  and  the 

280.  And  if  you  will  fix  your  minds  only  on  the  conditions  of 
human  life  which  the  Giver  of  it  demands,  "He  S^^Sra  Aw 
oh  man,  what  is  good,  and  what  doth  thy  Lord  requL  "  th?e  W 

vou  w'iTlindT»f»^  \'  "2!!?^'       *°  A  hlbT^ith  thy  God/' 
you  wi  1  find  that  such  obedience  is  always  acknowledet  d  bv  tem 
ppral  blessmg.   If,  turning  from  the  manifest  misS  o  crSl  am 
vo?r;»f"\r°'^^*  wan<fering3  of  insolent  belief,  you  suSn  to 
your  thoughts  rather  the  state  of  unrecorded  multitudes.  X  £ 


vin 


ARATRA  PENTELICr. 
One  Vol.  Seven  Lectures.  (1871 ) 

GROWTH  07  UASLtSmm. 

more  wise,  at  least  more  maX'  t^?>,T    ^®        becomes,  if  not 
fancy  that  M  SSS^A^tS.ff'''^ 
back  upon,  in  som.  rVstent  time  j  ^,",1%  In""        ^  ^^^"^ 
the  words  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  m^/kl     ?//o"-makmg,  and  that 
will  not  be  for  8te«  thaf ^  d3  t."^  ^  T  T'^  '  «"Iy 

tm^wS^SlrirSr.'^^'^^'Sr''''  necessarily  imply 

JSTSi^cS^Tnlthere™^^^^  .cute,  pure^and  tol 

ditfam  of  advanced  life -hnTiL^-  T«*f.i/o«l.  and  ridiculous  con- 


IDOLATRY. 


ihe*?ertlin^of  I'^Uat^^^^^^  "'S*  «> 
of  cloudJnVn  unSm "ng  flL^Tr  ^  a"  s^J  S";^'  '^^^ 
•m  to  bow  down  before  thea*.  >■ 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 


63.  But  the  elementary  causes,  both  of  thia  frivolity  in  yon,  and 
of  worse  than  frivtdity  in  older  persons,  are  the  two  forms  of  deadly 
Idolatiy  which  are  now  all  but  universal  in  England. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  worship  of  the  Eidholon,  or  Phantasm  of 
Wealth;  which  is  briefly  to  be  defined  as  the  servile  apprehension 
of  an  active  power  in  Money,  and  the  solnniMion  to  it  as  the  God  of 
our  life. 

64.  The  second  elementary  cause  of  the  'oas  of  our  nobly  im- 
aginative faculty,  is  the  worship  of  the  Letter,  instead  of  the  Spirit, 
in  what  we  chiefly  accept  as  the  ordinance  and* teaching  of  Deity; 
and  the  apprehension  of  a  healing  sacredness  in  the  act  of  reading 
the  Book  whose  primal  commands  wo  xofose  to  obey. 

No  feather  idol  of  Polynesia  was  ever  a  sign  of  a  more  shameful 
idolatry,  than  the  modern  notion  in  the  minds  of  certainly  the  ma- 
jority of  English  religious  persons,  that  the  Word  of  God,  by  which 
the  heavens  were  of  old,  and  the  eajth,  steading  out  of  the  water  and 
in  the  water, — the  Word  of  God  which  came  to  tiie  prq>hetB,  and 
oomes  still  for  ever  to  all  who  will  hear  it,  (and  to  many  who  will 
forbear) ;  and  which,  called  Faithful  and  True,  is  to  lead  forth,  in 
the  judgment,  the  armies  of  heaven, — that  this  "Word  of  God"  may 
yet  be  bound  at  our  pleasure  in  morocco,  and  carried  about  in  a 
yonng  lady's  pocket,  with  tusaUad  ribands  to  mark  the  passage* 
■ho  most  iftpraws  of. 


■VOLUTION — WHAT  WB  HAVE  BBBN — ^WHAT  Wl  ABB  I 

103.  Whether  your  Creator  shaped  you  with  fingers,  or  tools,  as 
•  sculptor  would  a  lamp  of  clay,  or  gradually  raised  you  to  man- 
hood through  a  series  of  inferior  forms,  is  only  of  moment  to  you  in 
this  respect — ^that  in  the  one  case  you  cannot  expect  your  children  to 
be  nobler  creatures  than  you  are  yourselves — in  the  other,  every  act 
and  thought  of  your  present  life  may  be  hastening  tiie  advent  of  a 
race  whidh  will  look  back  to  you,  their  fathers,  with  incredulous 
disdain. 

104.  But  that  you  are  yourselves  capable  of  that  disdain  and  dis- 
may; that  you  are  ashamed  of  having  been  apes,  if  you  ever  were  so; 
that  you  acknowledge  instinctively,  a  relation  of  better  and  worse, 
and  a  law  respecting  what  is  noble  and  base,  which  makes  it  no  ques- 
tion to  you  that  the  man  is  worthier  than  the  baboon — this  is  a 
fact  of  infinite  significance.  This  law  of  preference  in  your  hearts 
is  the  traa  essenee  of  your  being,  and  the  oonsdonsness  of  that  law 
is  a  more  positivs  existence  than  my  dspaodwrt  on  tha  oolMnnQt 
or  forrjs  of  mattw. — Ltet.  III. 


THS  W0B8HIP  OF  OATIV  ^tlM 

Who  would  have  thought  the  day  so  new  when  we  ahouM  W^m 
down  to  worship  not  the  creatures,  but  their  •loBM-^otSe  fomS 
that  form,  but  those  that  dissolve  themf^uSmJ  w^tlemen 

^f^^^J  •5^'  adoratio^f  bmS,  S  steiii! 

«t  no  koB  ageiiiBt  adoration  of  diaos.  nor  is  faith  iTan^mliSaf^^ 

5dSde5S'w^5e.''''':Sl  *>°ly  ^  the^he^S^e^ 

«  deradence.  We  have  <sased  from  the  making  of  monsters  to  bei^ 
peased  by  sacnfice;— it  is  well,— if  indeed  we  have  alro  oSaS  ft^ 
making  them  in  our  thoughts.  We  ^ve  leaSI^  to  dSSst^^ 
adorning  of  fair  phantasms,  to  which  we  once  sought  for^^ur--! 

iel^kXTeJSon  ^^1?  "^-^^^  adornin/of  t'Ssfto  whS 
wo  seek,  for  temptation;  but  the  verity  of  gains  like  these  can  onW 

of  the  divfne  s^l  of  strengfrand  beS 
I9<m  tiM  teini)^  frame,  and  honour  in  the  fervent  hfartfby  whkh 
mo^asmg  visibly,  may  yet  be  manifested  to  us  the  holy  pWicJ' 

W^'''"^  ^^'^"^         ^'"»«  God.  who  visitB  thJ  KitS 
of  the  Fathers  upon  the  Children,  unto  the  thild  and  fourS  mJ! 

m  ttem  flttt  love  Him,  and  keep  Hie  ConiiiMiidmaiiti.--£«er//L 


raoviDBNca. 


tl.if^i^«°^J*'^^*"?^  attention  to  the  idea,  and,  more 

^•J^v  in'r^*  f*'*'  K         infinitely  misused  term 

Providentia,"  when  applied  to  the  Divine  Power  Inii, 

sToTh  i?tepia? "     ^rr%f;:Xa;  tUpeS 

typo  Of  It  M  m  ftometheus,  and  all  the  first  power  of  TtYv»  is  from 
stht  ".rr"^  *°  weakness  of  days  w£^n  men  f^T 
signi  ti^pov  fucti  mvra."  But,  80  far  as  we  used  the  worH  "Prnirf 
denoe"  as  an  attribute  of  the  iJlaker  ud  GWi?3  S  twSS  it  d<Si 
not  mean  that  in  a  shipwreck  He  takes  care  <J^i)Ii£««  S 
to  be  saved  and  takes  none  of  those  who  are  to  iSTSwSS'bSt^ 
doe,  mean  that  every  race  of  creatures  is  bom  hito  t^ri^ 
circumstancas  of  appitnimato  adaptation  to  its  necessitiw  •  imr£ 

sridT^ite  "tsr^sijeTofti^  ?nX«  Sois 


IX 


MORNINGS  IN  FLORENCE. 
(SocLKTUBn.  (1876-7.) 

In  1876  Ruskin  visited  Florence  to  study  the  religioua  art  of 
that  historic  city.  On  his  return  to  his  work,  as  University  Professor 
•t  Oxford,  he  gave  the  result  of  these  studies  in  six  lectures  which 
he  issued  in  separate  pamphlets,  and  tbqr  were  afterwaida  pub- 
lished in  book  form.  These  lectures  are  so  constructed  that  they 
do  not  lend  themselves  readily  to  our  method  of  selection,  but  they 
are  peculiarly  interesting  icading,  teeming  with  suggestion  and  lea- 
son  to  whosoever  will.  The  selections  following  aie,  therefore,  an 
invitation  to  read  the  whole  volume. 

FTT.TAT.  OBEDIENCB  AND  PABENTAL  DUTY. 

The  first  dnty  of  a  child  is  to  obey  its  father  and  mother;  as  the 
first  duty  of  a  citizen  is  to  obey  the  laws  of  his  state.  ...  On 
the  other  hand,  the  father  and  mother  have  also  a  fixed  duty  to  the 
child— not  to  provoke  it  to  wrath.  I  have  never  heard  this  text 
explain^  from  the  pulpit,  which  is  curious.  For  it  appears  to  me 
that  God  will  expect  the  parents  to  understand  their  duty  to  their 
children,  better  even  than  children  can  be  expected  to  know  their 
duty  to  their  parents.  .  .  .  A  child's  duty  is  to  obey  its  parents. 
It  13  never  said  anywhere  in  the  Bible,  and  never  was  yet  said,  in 
any  good  or  wise  book,  that  a  maix's  or  a  .  ^an's,  is.  When,  pre- 
cisely, a  child  becomes  a  man  or  a  womai  f  f  nn  no  more  be  mid, 
than  when  it  should  first  stan**  v  its  lej.  :  at  a  time  assuredly 
eomes  when  it  should.  In  gn  '  states,  i  v  are  always  trying 
to  remain  children,  and  the  parents  w  ig  to  make  men  and 
women  of  them.  In  vile  states,  the  children  are  always  wanting  to 
be  men  and  women,  and  the  parents  to  keep  them  children.  It 
may  be— and  happy  the  house  in  which  it  is  s(k— that  the  father's, 
at  least  equal  intellr-t,  and  older  experience,  may  remain  to  the  end 
of  t  is  life  a  law  unt  his  children,  not  of  force,  but  of  pwfect  guid- 
ance, with  perfect  love.  Rarely  it  is  so :  not  often  possible.  It  is  as 
natural  for  the  dd  to  be  prejudiced  as  for  the  young  to  be  presump- 
taojM.  ...  If  there  be  any  truth  in  (Jhristianity  at  all,  there 
wiU  enne^  for  aU  trm  diae^e,  a  time  what  Hmj  have  to  take  that 


REUQIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  99$ 

saying  to  heart,  "He  that  loveth  father  or  mother  man  than  If^ 
IS  not  worthy  of  Me."  ^ 
'XoMtr— obBerve.  Then  is  no  talk  of  disobeying  fathers  or 
mothen  whom  you  do  not  love,  or  of  running  away  from  a  home 
wnere  y<m  would  rather  not  stay.  But  to  leave  the  home  which  is  your 
Mace  and  to  beatenmity  with  those  who  are  most  dear  to  you— this 
If  there  be  anv  meaning  in  Christ's  words,  one  day  or  other  wiU  be 
demanded  of  his  true  followers.  And  there  w  meaning  in  Christ's 
words.  Whatever  misuse  may  have  been  made  of  them,— whatever 
faJse  prophets  have  called  the  young  children  to  them,  not  to  bless, 
but  to  cuzae,  the  assured  fact  remains,  that  if  you  will  obey  God,  there 
will  come  a  moment  when  the  voice  of  man  will  be  raised,  with  all 
Its  hohest  natural  authority,  against  you.  The  friend  and  the  wise 
adviser— the  brother  and  the  sister— the  father  and  the  master— the 
entire  feight  of  the  scornful  stupidity  of  the  vulgar  world— for  one*?, 
they  will  be  against  you,  all  at  one.  You  have  to  obey  God  rather 
than  man.  The  human  race,  with  all  its  wisdom  and  love,  all  its 
indignation  and  folly,  on  the  one  side,— God  akme  on  the  other 
You  have  to  choose.— TAe  Third  MomUg.  ' 


X 


ST.  MARE'S  REST. 
Euvnr  Chaps.  (1879.) 

Thia  interesting  volume  was  written,  as  Ruskin  says  in  his  sub- 
title,  M  a  "History  of  Venice— for  the  help  of  the  few  travellera 
who  ttill  care  for  her  monnmentt."  It  is  a  sort  of  supplement  to 
the  "Stones  of  Venice."  ^ 

The  book  consists  of  eight  chapters,  two  supplements,  and  an  ap- 
pendix to  the  last  chapter,  to  which  (appendix)  he  has  given  the 
title  of  Sanctxu,  Sarictiu.  Sanctus.  At  the  head  of  this  he  quotes  from 
"The  Stones  of  Venice"  referring  to  St.  Mark's  at  Venice:  "Tha 
whole  edifice  is  to  be  regarded  leas  as  a  tenq>le  wherrin  to  pray  than 
as  itself  a  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  a  vast  iUuminatad  miml,  boniul 
with  alabaster  instead  of  parchment." 

The  opening  paragraph  of  his  preface  givee  a  ^'>v  to  the  vol- 
ume: — 

"Great  nations  write  their  autobiographic  in  thi  nuscripts— 
the  look  of  their  deeds,  the  book  of  their  words,  and  tue  book  of  their 
art.  Not  one  of  these  books  can  be  understood  unless  we  read  the 
two  others;  but  of  the  three,  the  only  quite  trustworthy  one  is  the 
last  The  acts  of  a  nation  may  be  triumphant  by  its  good  fortune; 
•nd  its  words  mighty  by  the  genius  of  a  few  of  its  children:  but  its 
art,  only  by  the  general  gifts  and  common  sympathies  of  the  race." 

THS  OLD  KKIOaXHOOD. 

For  many  centuries  the  Knights  of  Christendom  wore  their  re- 
Iigion  gay  as  their  crest,  familiar  as  their  gauntlet,  shook  it  hidi  in 
the  summer  air,  hurled  it  fiercely  in  other  peq>le'8  faces,  grasped 
their  roear  the  firmer  for  it,  sat  their  horses  the  prouder;  but  ft  never 
^twed  mto  their  minds  for  an  instant  to  ask  the  meaning  of  it» 
Forgive  us  our  sins:"  by  all  means— yes,  and  the  next  garrison  that 
holds  out  a  day  longer  than  is  convenient  to  us,  hang  them  everv 
man  to  his  battlement.  "Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread  "— v. 
and  our  neighbor's  also,  if  we  have  any  luck.  "Our  Lady  and 
samtsi"  Is  there  any  infidel  dog  that  doubts  of  them?---in  C 


RELIGIOUS  LIGHT  IN  ARCHITECTURE  aff 

name,  boot  and  spur— and  let  oc  have  the  head  off  him.  It  want  «b 
■o,  frankly  and  bravely,  to  the  twdilh  oantniy,  at  the  oarUaat;  when 
men  begin  to  thmk  m  a  Nriooi  UMUMr;  more  or  lea  of  genUe 
manners  and  domestic  oomfort  being  also  then  conceivable  and  at- 
tainable. Roaamond  IS  not  any  more  asked  to  drink  out  of  her 
facer's  skull.  Rooms  begin  to  be  matted  and  wainscoted:  shops  to 
hold  store  of  marvellous  foreign  wares;  knights  and  ladies  leam  to 

Sell,  and  to  read,  with  pleasure;  music  is  everywhere:— Death,  also, 
uch  to  enjoy— much  to  leam,  and  to  endni*— with  Death  almtvs  at 
the  gates.  "If  war  fail  thee  in  Uune  own  eonntry,  set  thee  with 
haste  into  another,"  says  the  faithful  old  Vnaek  kmsbt  to  the  bov- 
chevaher,  in  early  fourteenth  cmtwy  di^ 

OOD  xKcmu. 

No  country  stays  more  than  two  centuries  in  this  intermediate 
phase  between  Faith  and  Reason.  In  France  it  lasted  from  aboni 
1150  to  1350  ;  in  England,  1200  to  1400;  in  Venice,  1300  to  1500. 
Ihe  courae  of  it  is  always  in  the  gradual  development  of  Christian- 
ity,— till  her  yoke  eets  at  once  too  aerial,  andtoostraight,  for  the  mob, 
•who  break  through  it  at  last  as  if  it  were  so  much  gossamer;  and 
at  the  same  fatal  time,  wealth  and  luxury,  with  the  vanity  of  cor^ 
rapt  learning,  foul  the  faith  of  the  upper  classes,  who  now  bejrin 
to  wear  their  Christianity,  not  tossed  for  a  crest  high  over  their 
armor,  but  stuck  as  a  plaster  over  their  sores,  inside  of  their  clothes. 
Then  comes  pnntmg,  and  universal  gabble  of  fools;  gunpowder,  and 
the  end  of  all  the  noble  methods  of  war;  trade,  and  universal  swind- 
ling; weidth,  and  universal  gambling;  idleness,  and  universal  bar- 
lotry;  and  so  at  last— Modem  Science  and  PoUtical  Economy;  and 
the  rugn  of  ^  Petroleum  instead  of  St.  Peter.  Out  of  which  God 
only  knowB  what  la  to  come  next;  but  He  does  know,  whatever  the 
Jaw  awindkn  and  apolhaearifli'  'tnaHem  think  abont  it.— (7k  VI. 


MAHY  "iXVm  OF  CHRIST." 

42.  You  have  had  various  "Uvea  of  Christ,"  German  and  other, 
lately  provided  among  your  other  sevoely  historioal  atadies.  Some, 
cntn»l;  and  aome,  sentimental.  But  there  is  only  one  light  by 
whidi  yon  am  read  Um  life  of  Christ,— the  light  of  the  life  you  now 
lead  in  the  fledi;  and  that  not  the  natural,  but  the  won  life.  "Never- 
thelflM,  I  livt;  y«t  not  I,  hot  Ohiiat  livtth  in  ma."— VIU. 

"vaa  CAXUHO  of  XAnHsw." 

The  GMpel  which  the  publican  wrote  for  us,  with  its  perfect  ser- 
mon on  the  Mount,  and  mostly  more  harmonious  and  gentle  fulness, 
in  places  where  St.  Luke  is  formal,  St.  John  mysterious,  and  St. 
Mark  brief ^—4his  Ckvpal,  according  to  St.  Matthew,  I  ahonld  think. 


•9i  TBE  REUOION  Or  RVSKIN 

we  have,  and  are  doinJ^  '-Si?  universal  call  to  leave  alfthat 
h-th.  ci^nTbe'^yfele/''^^^^^^^^^  ^ 

pescatori  enoSgh  oTZRiva  here  within'^^ft  T  "igh*  finS 
who  would  tde  the  chance  at  orf^A  *  hundred  paces  of  you, 

them.   James  Ld  JudShri,^",  1   -^^^  P®"^'*  offend  it 

^.  John  preach"  aSdt^e'wVom  ft  ^sir^^^^  *° 

in  the  place  of  business-engaged  in  tL  fm^res?,  of  fnrT"'  ''"'^ 

ernment^ddenly  the  MesliaT  pJs^ng  by  Tavs 


BOOK  FOURTH 

Religious  Studies  in  Nature 


RELIGIOUS  STUDIES  IN 
NATURE 


ETmas  or  the  dubt. 

Tnr  LKTom.  (IMS.) 

The  fpirit  of  the  philoaopher  was  never  more  radiant  in  Rnakin 
than  when  talking  to  ehildren,  and  especially  to  girla.  In  his  old 
•ge  he  was  "ymmg  again'*  wbm  leading  young  people  in  ezouniou 
through  some  of  Nature's  many  great  plains  and  grooves. 
tJ^!'^^  "^J^  "  •  book,  not  only  for  the  young, 
^T""*  "^^^      °*"y  °o  longer  young  ^ 

years.  Colhngwood  teUs  us  that  it  is  practicaUy  a  report  of  a^ 
talks  with  a  group  of  young  people  whom  the  Author  met  in  a  visit 
to  Winnington  in  Omhira.  "The  method,"  he  says,  "is  the  kin- 
dijTWten  method  carried  a  step,  many  slqM  further." 
^  The  book  is  indeed  a  charming  one,  written  in  the  form  of  a 
Oonvenation  CSaaa  when  study  seems  to  have  blended  with  play  and 
the  inquisitive  curiosity  of  an  impromptu  dasi  of  young  ladies, 
from  nine  to  twenty  years  of  age.  This  conversational  exercise 
Mdi  to  all  sorti  of  questions  which  result  in  short  talks,  or  lectans, 
nom  the  "Old  Lecturer"  on  Ctyitalkgiqdiy,  Thaokiy,  PoIMed 
BooQomy,  and  Moral  Philosophy. 

Carlyle  expressed  his  delight  on  receipt  of  an  early  oopy  of  the 
book,  in  a  letter  in  which  he  says:  "  'The  Ethics  of  Duet'  which  I 
devoured  with  pause,  and  intend  to  look  at  again,  ia  a  most  shining 
Ferformaneel  Not  for  a  long  while  have  I  read  anything  tenth-part 
so  radiant  with  talent,  ingenuity,  lambent  file  (slwet— «id  odwr 
lightnings)  of  all  commendable  kinds  I  Never  was  such  a  lecture  on 
Cryatallography  before,  had  there  been  nothing  else  in  it,— «nd  there 
•TO  an  imnner  of  tttingk      imm  nf  eiprwrioii  T  prnnomui  it  lu 


3M  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

preme;  never  did  anybody  who  had  auch  things  to  explain  explain 
them  better. 

The  few  selections  here  given  must  not  be  regarded  as  a  fair 
sample  of  the  mterest  which  the  book  awakens.  The  charming  per- 
sonality  of  the  converBations  can  only  be  appreciated  by  reading 
them  and  the  book  is,  fortunately,  one  of  those  reprint!  whieh  can 
be  purchased  at  any  bookstore  for  a  few  cents. 

DIAMONDS  AND  OOLD  DO  NOT  ICAKB  HAPPINESS. 

HiZ^nl^K^T"*'  ^°  ""PJ^'  ^""^  ^«er  for  possessing 
diamonds?  but  how  many  have  been  made  base,  frivolous,  and  mis- 
arable  by  desiring  them?  Was  ever  man  the  better  f or  havSig 

SfilHhl^fv^f  "^^r^^  ^«         that  is  incired 

to  fill  them?  Look  into  the  history  of  any  civilued  nations;  analyze, 
with  reference  to  this  one  cause  of  crime  and  misery,  the  Uvea  and 
thoughts  of  their  nobles,  priests,  merchants,  and  mei  of  luMrious 
life.  Every  other  temptation  is  at  last  concentrated  into  this:  pride 
lYn  '„ri  a^g?'  all  give  up  their  strength  to  av^ce 

the  whole  world  is  essentially  the  sin  of  Judas.  Men  do 
not  disbelieve  their  Christ;  but  they  seU  Him.— iecfc  /. 

RIGHT  AND  WRONG. 

if  people  do  as  well  as  thejr  can  see  how,  sardy 
that  IS  the  right  for  them,  isn't  it?  •  ^ 
L.  No,  May,  not  a  bit  of  it;  right  is  right,  and  wrong  is  wrong. 
It  13  only  the  fool  who  does  wrong,  and  says  he  "did  it  for  the  best" 
And  If  there  s  one  sort  of  person  in  the  worid  that  the  Bible  speaks 
harder  of  than  another,  it  is  fools.  Their  particular  and  chief  way 
of  saying  There  is  no  God"  is  this,  of  declaring  that  whatever  theur 
pubhc  opinion  may  be,  is  right:  and  that  God's  opinion  if  of  no 
consequence  r        -  •» 

Mary.  And  if  one  is  forced  to  do  a  ivTcng  thine  by  some  mm  who 
has  authority  over  you? 

L.  My  iau,  no  one  can  be  forced  to  do  a  wrong  v.ing,  for  the 
gtrilt  IS  in  the  wOl:  but  you  may  any  day  be  forced  to  do  a  fatal 
tlung,  03  you  might  be  forced  to  take  poison;  the  remarkable  law  of 
nature  in  such  cases  being,  that  it  ia  always  unfortunate  you  who 
ere  poisoned,  and  not  the  person  who  gives  you  the  dose.  It  is  a  very 
strange  law,  but  it  u  a  law.  Nature  merely  sees  to  the  carrying  out 
of  the  normal  operation  of  anenic  She  never  troubles  herself  io 
asJt  who  gave  It  jrou.  So  also  you  may  be  starved  to  death,  morally 
as  well  as  physically,  by  other  people's  faults.  You  are,  on  the 
wnole,  yery  good  children  sitting  here  to-day;  do  you  think  that 
your  goodness  comes  all  by  your  own  contriving?  or  that  you  are 


RBUQWV8  STUDIES  IN  NATURE  303 

gentle  and  kind  because  your  dispositions  are  naturally  more  angelic 
than  those  of  the  poor  gah  who  are  playing,  with  wild  eyes,  on  the 
dust-heaps  in  the  alkys  of  oar  gn«t  toWn^'and  who  ine  day 
.'Ul  their  pn80M,-or,  better,  their  graves?  Heaven  only  know 
where  they,  and  we  who  have  cast  tSem  there,  shall  stand  at  last, 
^ut  the  mam  judgment  question  wiU  be,  I  suppose,  for  aU  of  us. 
"Did  you  keep  a  good  heart  through  it?"  What  you  were,  othnS 
mav  answer  for;— what  you  tried  to  be,  you  must  answer  for  youiw 
self.  Was  the  heart  pure  and  true— tell  us  that?— Leei.  V. 

HEIX2EH00  BIBLE  READING. 

The  way  in  which  common  people  read  their  Bibles  is  just  like  the 
way  that  the  old  monks  thought  hedgehogs  ate  grapes.  They  rolled 
themselves  (it  was  said),  ovw  and  over,  wheri  tfce  grapes  lay  on 
the  ground.  What  fruit  studc  to  their  spines,  they  caTried  off,  aSd 
yo^^J^edgehoggy  readers  roll  themselves  over  and  over  their 
BiWes,  and  declare  that  whatever  sticks  to  their  own  spines  is  Scrio- 
ture  and  tiiat  nothme  else  is.  But  you  can  only  get  the  skins  of 
the  texts  that  way    If  you  want  their  juice,  you  must  press  them 
in  cluster.  Now,  the  clustered  texts  about  the  human  heart,  insist 
asa  body,  not  on  anyinherent  corruption  in  all  hearts,  but  on  the 
temfic  distinction  between  the  bad  and  the  good  ones.   "A  eood 
fnan,  out  of  the  good  treasure  of  his  heart,  bringeth  forth  that  which 
IS  good;  and  an  evil  man,  out  of  the  evil  treasure,  bringeth  forth 
that  which  IS  evil  "  "They  on  the  rock  are  they  which,  in  an  honest 
and  good  heart,  having  heard  the  word,  keep  it."  "Delight  thyself 
in  the  Lord,  and  He  shall  give  thee  the  desires  of  thine  hwirt."  **rhe 
wicked  have  bent  their  bow,  that  they  may  privUy  shoot  at  him  that 
IS  upright  in  heart."  And  so  on;  tliey  are  countless,  to  the  same 
effect.  And,  for  all  of  us,  the  question  is  not  at  all  to  ascertain  how 
much  or  how  little  corruption  there  is  in  human  nature;  but  to  as- 
certain whether,  out   f  all  the  mass  of  that  nature,  we  are  of  the 
sheep  or  the  goat  breed ;  whether  we  are  people  of  upright  heart 
being  shot  at,  or  people  of  crooked  heart,  shooting.  And,  of  all  the 
texts  bearing  on  the  subject,  this,  which  is  a  quite  simple  and  practi- 
cal order,  is  the  one  you  have  chiefly  to  hold  in  mind.  "Keep  thy 
Heart  with  all  diligence,  for  out  of  it  are  the  iasoee  of  life."— £m«.  F. 

HOW  TO  HELP  OOD. 

There  is  but  one  way  in  which  man  can  ever  heh>  Ood  that  is 

by  lettme  God  help  him:  and  there  is  no  way  in  whieli  Wa  name  it 
more  guiltily  taken  in  vain,  than  hy  calling  the  •b«^bmmeat  of 
our  own  work,  the  performance  of  His. 

God  is  a  kind  Father.  He  sets  us  all  in  the  places  where  He  wishes 
*»  be  employed;  and  that  employment  is  truly  "our  Father*! 
Dosineai."  He  dioosei  work  for  evny  efe^mt  waielt  win  be 


3«4  TBB  nELiaiON  OF  RU8KIN 

lightfal  to  ttiem,  if  they  do  it  simply  and  humbly.  He  gives  as 
always  strength  enough,  and  sense  enough,  for  what  He  wants  us  to 
do;  If  we  eithv^r  tire  ourselves  or  puirie  ourselves,  it  is  ounelvei.  i» 
18  our  own  fault.  And  we  may  always  be  aore,  whatever  we  J?io- 
ing,  that  we  cannot  be  pleasmg  Him,  if  we  are  not  happy  ourselves. 
Wow,  away  with  you,  children;  and  be  as  happy  as  you  can  And 
when  jm  eannut,  at  kart  doa't  ploine  upon  ^tin^^ 

■RBOB  nr  HUXAK  CRIBDS. 

The  more  readily  we  admit  the  possibility  of  our  own  cher- 
ished convictions  being  mixed  with  error,  the  more  vital  and  helo- 
ful  whatever  is  right  in  them  will  become:  and  no  error  is  so  con- 
dusively  fatal  as  the  idea  that  God  wiU  not  allow  w  to  err,  thouch 
He  has  allowed  all  other  men  to  do  so.  There  may  be  doubt  of  the 
meaning  o^er  visions,  but  there  is  none  respecting  that  of  the 
dreana  of  St.  Peter;  and  you  may  trust  the  Rock  of  the  Church's 
foundation  for  true  interpreting,  where  he  learned  from  it  that, 
in  every  nation,  he  that  feareth  God  and  worketh  rirfiteousneM.  ia 
accepted  with  Him."  See  that  you  undontand  what  ffiat  righteoos- 
ness  means;  and  set  hand  to  it  stoutly:  you  will  always  measure  your 
neighbors  creed  kmdiy,  in  proportion  to  the  substantial  fruits  of 
y«ir  own.  Do  not  think  you  will  ever  get  harm  by  striving  to  enter 
into  tbe  faith  of  others,  and  to  sympathize,  in  imagination,  witii, 
the  guiding  pnnciples  of  their  lives.  So  only  can  you  justly  love 
them,  or  pity  them,  or  praise.  By  the  gracious  efforts  you  will 
double,  treble— nay,  indefinitely  multiply,  at  once  the  pleasure,  the 
reverence,  and  the  intelligence  with  which  you  read:  and,  bdieva 
me,  It  IS  wiser  and  holier,  by  the  fire  of  your  own  faith,  to  kindle 
the  ashes  of  expired  religions,  than  to  let  your  soul  shiver  and  stum- 
ble among  their  naves,  through  the  gatnering  darkneas.  and  com* 
municable  cold,— L«ct  X. 


II 


THE  QUEEN  OP  THE  AJR. 
Thkek  Lbctuebs.  (1869.) 

These  lectures  bearing  the  respective  titles  of  (I)  Athena  in  the 
Heavens— On  the  Greek  Myths  of  Storm;  (11)  Athma  in  the  Earth; 
(III)  Athena  in  the  Heart;  are  mainly  studies  of  Greek  myths,  bat 
are  characteristic  of  our  Author  in  that  they  frequently  travel  into 
subjects  of  practical  life,  and  of  moral  aspeets  of  saoh  questions  as 
Capital,  Ubor,  Legislation,  Liberty,  Land,  Money,  Crime,  etc. 

Mr.  Ruskin,  himself,  interprets  his  use  of  the  Greek  goddess  Ath- 
ena.  He  says:— "This  great  goddess  is  physically,  thequeen  of  the  air: 
having  supreme  power  both  over  its  blessing  of  calm,  and  wrath  of 
8»'^rm,  and  spiritually,  she  is  the  queen  of  the  breath  of  man,  first 
of  the  bodily  breathing  which  ii  life  to  his  bkwd,  and  strength  to 
his  arm  in  battle;  and  then  of  the  mental  breathing,  or  inspiration, 
which  is  his  moral  health  and  habitual  wisdom;  wisdom  of  conduct 
and  of  the  heart,  as  opposed  to  the  wisdom  ti  kwginatinn  and  the 
bram ;  moral,  as  distinct  from  iiridhetoal;  implied,  as  ^tinet  bm 
illuminated. 

By  a  singular,  and  fcntonate,  though  I  believe  wholly  aeddental 
coincidence,  the  heart-virtue,  of  which  she  is  the  spirit,  was  separ^ 
ated  by  the  ancients  into  four  divisions,  which  have  since  obtained 
acceptance  from  all  men  as  rig^fly  discerned,  and  have  received,  as 
if  from  the  quarters  of  the  four  winds  of  which  Athena  is  the  natural 
queen,  the  name  of  'Cardinal'  virtues;  namely.  Prudence,  (the  right 
seeing,  and  foreseeing,  <rf  events  through  darkness) ;  Justice,  (the 
righteous  bestowal  of  favour  and  of  indignation) ;  Fortitude,  (pa- 
tience under  trial  by  pain) ;  and  Temperance,  (patienoe  under  txial 
by  pleMoie)."  .... 

The  Greek  creed  was,  of  course,  different  in  its  character,  as  our 
own  creed  is,  according  to  the  class  of  persons  who  held  it.  The 
common  people's  was  quite  literal,  simple,  and  happy;  their  idea  of 
Athena  was  as  clear  as  a  good  Roman  Catholic  peasant's  idea  of  the 
Madonna.  In  Atlms  itsdf,  the  centre  of  thma^  and  ze&n«0Bent» 

jes 


a**  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

Rsistratus  obtained  the  reins  of  government  through  the  rendv  Iw. 
hef  of  the  populace  that  a  beautiful  woman,  aWSe  At ^ 
the  goddess  herself.  Even  at  the  close  of  thVw  ^'^\^^'>'^> 
this  simplicity  remained  amongl^e t^b/tante  om^S  TV 
and  when  .  pretty  English  lady  fir^  ml  her  wly  i^^l^^^^^ 

of  0°  her  refers  Sl  t^^S! 

of  the  neighboring  village,  believing  her  to  U^Z^^J^^ 
her  to  heal  them  of  their  sicknesseiT  "^^^  pnymg 


AET-GIFT8  AND  MORAL  CHAKACTEB. 


of'^LlWba?^i^^^^^^^^^ 
sweetness  of  voice  comes  of  Xe  n^t^rnJ^?*  *  ^T*  that 
can  sing  with  it  at  eTl  she  oweHo  ihfH  °^  ^hat  she 

music  by  the  moraS  of  throast  Fv.r.^T"''*'*'" 
virtue  and  vice,  affect^  in  an^  SSiurf       *5  ^^''^  ^'"P"'^^' 
and  vigour  and  harmony  of'^iSS  T'nZT'v''^^'^  P°^"' 
nghtness  of  human  conduct  ren2M  Spr  «  »ow     ^«"7«rance  in 
erations,  human  art  possSjmrTsif cYo,^^^^  "^f"**" 
a  one;  and  Persistent  vicious  ivSMfSn^ 
after  a  certain  number  nf  DrmltoH-T^  *o"owing  of  pleasure  render, 

deceived  by  theXli^suffL^r^^^^^^  '^^r'^K  Men  are 

m  a  nation,  the  rewird  of  hf  JLnL  «f  ^  •  °*t"^e;  and  mistake, 
own  sins.    The  ti^P  nf  Ulv    •  issue  of  its 

evitably;  for  7t  i  always  tme'  SaMJ7h„1",»,'°"t'  '^^  ^^ 
grapes,  the  children's  teeth  a?e  s»f  „i  'iS^  ^f^f!  ea^n  sour 
as  soon  as  you  have  leSned  individual, 
to  the  heart's  coJIftSgh  his  art  ^  tTh^'  ^fi^:  l^ow  him' 
great,  and  cultivate'dTthfheighf  bv  the  «o wf^f^*  ^ 
men ;  and  it  is  still  but  a  tapestrv  thrlwn  ?  *  *. 

inner  soul;  and  the  bearina'^f  ff^  -n  i?  ^ing  and 

hangs  on  a  man,^'  oTTskVe  on    U  loT^r^^,^^^^':.''^' 
not  see  the  diffei^nce  in  the  fflll  nf      TJi      i^m^sved,  yoa  may 
to  look,  and  the  fS  themselvi  win  L^I*^  ^*        ^*  how 
shall.see  through  them  the  dtK^i^^^ll*^^   and  you 
the  tissue  above  it  as  a  cloud  oi'i^^'^lS^Jl^iZi^^i^i 

ni    A    /^'^J'  W>W«  W»  GOOD. 

and  both  ha^e^SS^^^Ly  'LfZlf 

me,  and  take  awafmv  ?o^v  ^n/^^^T*"*  ri«  up  agaikst 


RBLIOIOVS  STUDIES  IN  NATURE 


3oy 


eiUxer,  my  power  u  owing  to  what  of  right  there  is  in  me.  I  dare 
to  Bay  It,  that,  because  through  all  my  life  I  have  desired  good,  and 
not  evil;  because  I  have  beer  kind  to  many;  have  wished  <«  be  kind 
to  all;  have  wilfully  injured  none;  and  because  I  have  loved  mudl. 
and  not  selfishly ;— therefore,  the  morning  light  is  yet  visible  to  me 
on  those  hills,  and  you,  who  read,  may  trust  my  thought  and  woid 
m  such  work  as  I  have  to  do  for  you;  and  you  will  be  glad  afiaiw 
wards  that  you  have  trusted  them.—Leet.  III.  *^ 

ABSOLUTE  FREEDOM  ONLY  IN  DEATH. 

Death  is  the  only  real  freedom  possible  to  us;  and  that  is  con- 
summate freedom,— permission  for  every  particle  in  the  rotting 
body  to  leave  its  neighbor  particle,  and  shift  for  itself.  You  call 
It  'corruption"  in  the  flesh;  but  before  it  comes  to  that,  all  liberty 
13  an  equal  corruption  in  mind.  You  ask  fo'  freedom  of  thought: 
but  if  you  have  not  sufficient  grounds  for  thought,  you  have  no 
business  to  think,  and  if  you  have  sufficient  ground*),  you  have  no 
business  to  think  wrong.  Only  one  thought  is  possible  to  you.  if 
you  are  wise— your  liberty  is  geometrical^  praportknata  to  yoor 
folly. 

FBrnoOM  ONLY  Wmi  RBSnaCTIONS. 

154.  "But  all  this  glory  and  activity  of  our  age;  what  are  thw 
owing  to,  but  to  our  freedom  of  thought?"  In  a  measure  they  are 
owing— what  good  is  in  them — to  the  discovery  of  many  lies,  and 
the  escape  from  the  powwr  of  evil.  Not  to  liberty,  but  to  the  deliver- 
ance from  evil  or  cruel  masters.  Brave  men  have  dared  to  examine 
lies  which  had  long  been  taught,  not  because  they  were  /rce-thinkers 
but  because  they  were  such  stem  and  cIom  thinkers  that  the  lie  could 
no  longer  escape  them.  Of  course  the  restriction  of  thought,  or  of 
its  expression,  by  persecution,  is  merely  a  form  of  yiolenoe,  justi- 
fiable 01  not,  as  other  violence  is,  accoroing  to  the  "baragter  m  the 

Krsons  agamst  whom  it  is  exereised,  and  the  divine  and  eternal 
ra  which  it  vindicates  or  violates,  we  must  not  bum  a  man  dive 
for  saying  that  the  Athanasian  creed  is  ungrammatical,  nor  stop  a 
bishop  s  salary  because  we  are  getting  the  worst  of  an  argument  with 
him ;  neither  must  we  let  dranken  men  howl  in  the  pumic  streets  at 
night.  The  liberty  of  expression,  with  a  great  nation,  would  be- 
come like  that  in  a  well-educated  company,  in  which  there  is  indeed 
freedom  of  speech,  but  not  of  damoor;  or  like  that  in  an  orderly 
senate,  in  which  men  who  deserve  to  be  hmrd,  are  heud  in  due  time, 
and  under  determined  restrictions.  The  degree  of  liberty  you  can 
rightly  grant  to  a  number  of  men  is  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  their 
desire  for  it ;  and  a  general  Iraih,  or  call  to  ttAu,  nmM  ba  oftn  ««cr 
dttirable. — Leet  III, 


Ill 


LOVE'S  MEINIE. 

Three  Lectxtbbs  oy  Greek  and  Enousb  Bnos.  (1878.) 

These  lectores  wen  a  part  of  a  Course  designed  to  be  much  ex- 
tended and  to  form  an  important  volume  of  study  on  the  Artist- 
view  of  birds.  Mr.  Ruskin  seems  to  have  had  a  presentiment  that 
he  would  never  be  able  to  complete  the  task,  for  in  closing  his  lec- 
tures he  remarked:— "It  has  been  throughout  my  trust  that  if  death 
should  write  on  these,  'What  this  man  began  to  build,  he  was  not 
able  to  finish,  God  may  also  write  on  them,  not  in  anger,  bat  in  aid. 
•A  stronger  than  he  cometh.' "»  o  , 

He  says  "Love^,  Meinie  (Love's  Many  or  Serving  Company)  was 
meant  to  become  a  study  of  British  birds,  whieh  wooU  have  been 
useful  m  museums." 

The  lectures  were  attended  by  crowds  of  people,  attracted  by  the 
well-known  ability  of  the  lecturer  to  deal  thoroughly  with  such 
subjects.  Every  lover  of  Natural  History  should  read  these  two  lec 
^hs*       ^  ^         ^  *^  foDowing  selected  para- 

CHRISTIAN  POETS  AND  SONO-BIRDS. 

Jf'^^  the  Christian  poets  begin  to  speak  of  the  sing- 
on  '^V  *^««Melv«s  in  quite  a  different  mo6d 

from  any  that  ever  occurs  to  a  Greek.  Aristophanes,  with  infinitely 
more  skill,  describes,  and  partly  imitates,  the  singing  of  the  nighUn- 

fin<fe  hw  heart  m  heaven  by  the  power  of  the  singinff  only 

m  English,  we  could  only  express  the  meaning  uiMmt  meh  UO^ 

Km  as  tbis: 

They  perfected  all  thdr  terriee  of  Low, 
Thew  maiden  birds  that  I  tell  you  of. 
Th^  M(  ndi  ft  wDf.  w  finidiad-fair. 
As  il  aty  MM  Mirii^  bofa  «<  tt*  tta. 


KNOW  THE  THINGS  OF  KATUBB. 

Qed  hasgmn  you  to  handle  and  to  see,  much  Imb  are  you  to  on? 
«CMBatwot<. 

90S 


REUOlOVa  STUDIES  IN  NATDRX  309 

itmplat«,  or  draw  imaginationa  of,  the  wings  of  annb,  which  you 
«ii  t  see.  Know  your  own  world  first— not  denyio*  sny  other,  but 
bemg  quite  sure  thirt  the  plM  in  which  you  imaTnow  put  is  the 
C*^J"»  I-  2?'  concerned;  and  that  it  wifl  be  wiser 

m  you  to  thuk  the  gods  themselves  may  appear  in  the  form  of  a 
dove  or  a  swallow,  than  that,  by  falae  theft  from  tbt  focm  of 
dove  or  swallow,  you  can  represent  the  aspect  of  godi. 

THE  SWALLOW. 

80.  I  believe  I  have  been  able  to  put  before  you  aoms  means  of 
ffuidance  to  understand  the  beauty  of  the  bird  which  Kves  with  vou 
in  your  own  housM,  and  which  purifies  for  you,  from  its  insect 
oestilence,  the  air  that  you  breathe.  Thus  the  swe^t  domestic  thing 
has  done,  tor  men,  at  least  these  four  thousand  years.  She  has  been 
their  companion,  not  of  the  home  merely,  but  of  the  hearth,  and  the 
threshold;  companion  only  endeared  by  departure,  and  showins 
better  her  loving-kmdnesa  by  xet  faithful  return.  Type  sometime 
of  the  stranger,  she  has  softened  us  to  hospitality;  type  always  of 
the  suppliant,  she  has  enchanted  us  to  mercy;  and  in  her  feeble 
presence,  the  cowardice,  or  the  wrath,  of  sacrUege  has  changed  into 
the  fidelities  of  sanctuary.   Herald  of  our  summer,  she  glances 
through  our  days  of  gladness;  numberer  of  our  years,  she  would 
teach  us  to  apply  our  hearts  to  wisdom :— and  yet,  so  little  have  w» 
regard^  her,  that  this  very  day,  scare,     able  to  gather  from  all  I 
can  find  told  of  her  enough  to  exphin  so  much  as  the  unfoldine  of 
her  wm^,  I  can  tell  you  nothing  of  her  life— nothing  of  her  jour- 
neymg:  I  cannot  learn  how  she  builds,  nor  how  she  chooses  the 
place  of  her  wandering,  nor  how  she  traces  the  path  of  her  return 
iCemainmg  thus  blind  and  careless  to  the  true  ministries  of  the 
humble  creature  whom  God  has  really  sent  to  serve  us,  w«  in  oar 
pnde,  thinking  ourselves  surrounded  by  the  pursuivants  of  the  skv 
^i**?  with  majesty  by  giving  them  the  cahn  of 
the  buds  motion,  and  shade  of  the  bird's  plume:— and  after  all  it 
M  well  for  us,  if,  when  even  for  God's  best  mercies,  and  in  His  tun- 
pies  marble-built,  we  think  that,  "with  angels  and  archangels,  ani 
all  the  company  of  Heaven,  we  laud  and  magnify  His  doiioiM 
name  —well  for  us,  if  our  attempt  be  not  only  an  msult.  ud  Bk 
fan  open  rather  to  the  inarticulate  and  nnint^nded  «>«*^  ^ 
BwtOow,  twittering  from  her  stmw-baflt  ahedT^ 


IV 


DEUCALION. 

CoLLSCTSD  Studies  of  Waves  and  Stones.   (2  Vols.  1876.) 
Vol.  I.  14  Chaps.  Vol.  II.  3  Chaps. 

Classic  Literature  records  a  Greek  Legend  of  "a  great  flood"  in 
whicli  the  whole  inhabited  world  was  destroyed,  except  Deucalion 
and  his  wife  Pyrrha,  who  saved  themselves.  After  consulting  an 
Orfcle  they  threw  behind  them  stones  of  the  earth;  from  those 
thrown  by  Deucalion  sprang  men,  and  from  those  thrown  by  Pyrrha 
came  women.   These  were  called  the  "Stone  race." 

This  legend  seema  to  have  suggested  to  Ruskin  the  title  of  this 
volume  which  treats  of  stones  and  waves.  The  work  involved  in 
the  volume  was  prosecuted  at  the  same  time  as  that  of  Proserpina  and 
was  a  parallel  study.  The  two  works  should  go  together  and  one 
wonders  why,  in  the  American  editions  they  are  entirely  separated. 

In  his  preface  to  this  collection  of  studies  Ruskin  says: — 

"It  chanced,  this  morning,  as  I  sat  down  to  finish  my  preface,  that 
I  had,  for  my  introductory  reading,  the  fifth  chapter  of  the  second 
book  of  Esdras;  in  which,  though  often  read  carefully  before,  I  had 
never  enough  noticed  the  curious  verse,  "Blood  shall  drop  out  of  wood, 
end  the  stone  shall  give  his  voice,  and  the  people  shall  be  troubled." 
Of  which  verse,  so  far  as  I  can  gather  the  meaning  from  the  context, 
and  from  the  rest  of  the  chapter,  the  intent  is,  that  in  the  time 
spoken  of  by  the  prophet,  which,  if  not  our  own,  is  one  exactly  cor^ 
responding  to  it,  the  deadness  of  men  to  all  noble  things  shall  be  so 
great,  that  the  sap  of  trees  shall  bo  more  truly  blood,  in  God's  sight, 
than  their  hearts'  blood;  and  the  silence  of  men,  in  praise  of  all 
noble  things,  so  fr  A,  that  the  stones  diall  cry  out,  in  God's  heai^ 
ing,  instead  of  their  tongues ;  and  the  rattling  of  the  shingle  on  the 
beach,  and  the  roar  of  the  rocks  driven  by  the  torrent,  be  truer  To 
Deum  than  the  thunder  of  all  their  ch(un.  The  writings  of  modem 
scientific  prophets  teach  us  to  anticipate  a  day  when  even  these 
lower  voices  shall  be  also  silent;  and  leaf  cease  to  wave,  and  stream 

310 


RELIGIOUS  STUDIES  IN  NATVBE  jtt 

to  munnur,  in  the  grasp  of  an  eternal  cold.  But  it  may  be,  that 
rather  out  of  the  mouths  of  babies  and  suddingB  a  better  peace'  may 
be  promised  to  the  redeemed  Jemaalem;  end  the  strewn  branches, 
and  low-laid  stones,  remain  at  rest  at  the  gates  of  the  city,  built  in 
unity  with  herself,  and  saying  with  her  human  voice.  "Mv  Kin* 
caaeQL"'^Introduetum.  ' 

TBM  BABTH's  THSn  tMAB. 

li!.tK?K®f  ^1°^^^'  .e^^^*  demonstrable  periods  of  the 
Earth's  history.   That  in  which  it  was  crystallized;  that  in  which  it 

dZmif  "t^'     I        '""Z^'^^  bein^  uSculptuJS  or 

deformed.   These  three  periods  interlace  with  each  other,  and  gAid- 

dies  m  the  child  on  the  da;r  that  it  is  born,-f  -nething  is  born  in  thf 
man  on  l^e  day  that  he  dTes:  nevertheless  his  life  is  broadly  divided 

to^r  different  conditions  from  any  now  existing  or  describable,  the 
mMses,  of  which  the  mountains  you  now  see  are  made,  were  lifted 
-nd  hardened,  m  the  positions  they  now  occupy,  thoigh  in  what 

5T«  Kf„  w""""*?"  euess  than  we  canU^  ong^  outlSe 
of  the  block  from  the  existing  statute.  wumo 

8.  (THE  SECOND  PEKlOD.)-Then,  out  of  those  raised 
masses  more  or  ess  in  lines  compliant  with  their  costal! Se  Smc- 
taw,  the  mountains  we  now  see  were  hewn,  or  worn,  during  the  ^c- 
ond  period,  by  forces  for  the  most  part  differing  both  in  mtSe  aTd 
violence  from  any  now  in  operation,  but  the  refult  of  whidTwa!  to 

i^hVt  ^iF ^        approxiiiately  tiS  ihich 

It  has  possessed  as  far  as  the  records  of  human  historv  extend  — 
The  Ararat  of  Mosee*!  time,  the  Olympus  «mndaTfforner'raro 
P'2P*'?S^^*^,2«5S?«  mountains  now,  t^at  they  were  then  ' 
a^(THE  PERIOD.)_Not,  howe?i,TiSioSt  some  cal- 

degra^tion    For  in  the  third,  or  historical  period,  the  vallevsM. 

hewn  in  the  second  period,  worn  or  ruined  down.  In  the  aecoml 
era  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  was  being  cut  d^^r  eve^  day"?  now 
It  is  every  day  bemg  fflled  up  with  gSivel.  In^e^Sd  era  thl 
tS^-Sl  V       Yorkshire,  w^  cut  white  aSdsUTnow 

ft^are  bemg  darkened  by  vegetation,  and  crumbled  by  fro^.'  You 
separate  ttie  periods  with  precision:  but,  in  tboir 
characten,  they  are  as  distinct  as  yonth  from  age.--03k.  //. 


SM  TEM  BSUaiON  OF  RVSKm' 

naaiom  nomts. 

10.  Finding  in  ita  past  hiatory  that  in  its  pure  and  loyal  forms 
hlio^*^?"*'  opal,  crvBtal.  jasper;  and  onyx,  S  idio  hw  Sen  S 
fcK  ■    '^V*  ask  farther  whether  it  deserves  to  S 

belov^,— whether  in  wisdom  or  folly,  equity  or  inequity,  we  jrive 
T/^tn^'  fettering  shapes  of  claV.  and  found\S'foAS 
A.  SiS^f  ?l  '*K°fj  carry  down  from  lip  to  lip,  and  teach, 
Ae  father  to  the  child,  as  a  sacred  tradition,  that  thel^ower  which 
made  us  and  preserves,  gave  also  with  the  leaves  of  the  earth  for  oS 
food  and  the  streams  of  the  earth  for  our  thirst,  so  also  the  dust 
of  the  earth  for  our  delight  and  possearion:  bidding  the  first  of  the 
S'J*k„°(k  ""'l!?®  ™  L«t«»°.J«"  ^aves  over  radiant  sands,  and  writ- 
L^fe     S**^'^.®'  ****  .^P'?*'  °'  it  divided,  "The 

Steme"  there  «1»  is  th«  erjttal,  and  th«  onyx 

11.  Before  I  go  on,  I  must  justify  to  you  the  funiliar  woid  I 

have  used  for  the  rare  one  in  the  text.  wum  * 

If  with  mere  curiosity,  or  ambitious  sdiolanhh),  yon  were  to  read 
the  commentatora  on  the  Pentateuch,  you  might  spend,  literally, 
many  years  of  life,  on  the  discussions  as  to  the  kinds  of  the  gems 
named  in  it ;  and  be  no  wiser  at  the  end  than  you  were  at  the  begin- 
ning But  if,  honestly  and  earnestly  desiring  to  know  the  meaning  of 
the  book  itself,  you  set  yourself  to  read  with  such  ordinary  help  as 
a  good  concordance  and  dictionary,  and  with  fair  knowledge  of  the 
two  languages  in  which  the  Testaments  have  been  clearly  given  to 
Ufl,  you  may  find  out  all  you  need  know,  in  an  hour.— <7A.  F//. 

THK  DEW  AND  THE  HOAR  FROST. 

12.  The  word  "bdellium"  occure  only  twice  in  the  Old  Testament : 
here,  and  in  the  book  of  Numbers,  where  you  are  told  the  manna 
was  of  the  colour  or  look  of  bdellium.  There,  the  Septuagint  uses 
for  it  the  word  «pv(rraAAo«,  crystal,  or  more  properly  anything  con- 
gealed by  cold;  and  in  the  other  account  of  the' manna,  in  Exodus, 

Jrou  are  told  that,  after  the  dew  round  the  camp  was  gone  up,  "there 
ay  a  small  round  thing — as  small  as  the  hoar-frott  upon  the 
ground."  Until  I  heard  from  my  friend  Mr.  Tyrrwhitt  of  the  cold 
felt  at  night  in  camping  on  Sinai,  I  could  not  unduntand  how  deep 
the  feeling  of  the  Arab,  no  less  tiian  the  Greek,  must  have  been  re- 
roecting  the  divine  gift  of  the  dew,— nor  with  what  sense  of  thank- 
fulness for  miraculous  blessing  the  question  of  Job  would  be  uttered, 
"The  hoary  frost  of  heaven,  who  hath  gendered  it?"  Then  compare 
the  first  words  of  the  blessing  of  Isaac:  "God  give  thee  of  the  dew 
of  heaven,  and  of  the  fatness  of  earth;"  and,  again,  the  &st  words 
of  the  song  of  Moses:  "Give  ear,  oh  ye  heavens, — ^for  my  speech 
shall  distil  as  the  dew;"  and  you  will  see  at  once  why  this  heavenly 
food  was  made  to  ddne  dear  in  die  desert,  like  an  enduring  of  its 


RELIOIOVS  STUDIES  IN  NATVAS  jij 

4«w  i— Divine  ismaining  for  cootinnal  amd.  TrnMn  m  tha 
MMW— pun  /or  evar.— CA.  F/i.  '•'i^w 

THB  MANKA. 

kJ^j"  Sf?^  firmly  that  first  idea  of  the  manna,  as  the  type  of  th* 
bread  which  is  the  Word  of  God;  and  then  look  on  for  the  EnglS 

Im  f  °'  t»  with  thS 

gold  of  Ophir,  with  the  precious  onyx,  or  the  sapphire  •  the  gold  and 
<Ae  crj,,<ai  ahaU  not  equal  it.  neither  shall  it  6S  valued  with  puw 
gold;'  m  Ewkiel,  "firmament  of  the  terrible  crystal,"  or  in  the 
Apocalypse  "A  sea  of  glass,  like  unto  crystal,-water  of  life,  dev 
as  crystal,"— "light  of  the  city  like  a  stone  most  preciout,  m 
like  a  jasper  stone,  clear  as  crystal/'  Your  understanding  the  true 
meaning  of  aU  these  passages  depends  on  your  distinct  conception 
of^the  permanent  dearaeai  and  hardness  of  the  Rock-crystal  — CA. 

14.  The  three  substances  named  here  in  the  first  account  of  Para- 
dise, stand  generally  as  types— the  Gold  of  all  precious  metals;  the 
CRYSTAL  of  all  clear  precious  stones  prized  for  lustre;  and  the  Onyx 
or  all  opaque  precious  stones  prized  for  colour.  And  to  mark  this 
distinction  aa  a  vital  one,— in  each  case  when  the  stones  to  be  set  for 
the  tabernacle-service  are  named,  the  onyx  is  named  separately.  The 
Jewi  h  rulers  teought  "onyx  stones,  end  stones  to  be  set  for  the 
ephod,  and  for  the  breastplate."*  And  the  onyx  is  used  thrice,  whUe 
every  other  stone  is  used  only  once,  in  the  High  Priest's  robe;  two 
onyxes  on  the  shoulders,  bearing  the  twelve  names  of  the  tribes  six 
on  each  stone,  (Exod.  xxviii.  9,  10,)  and  one  in  the  Imastplate. 
with  ita  separate  name  of  one  tribe,  (Exod.  xxviii.  20.) 

15.  A.  Now  note  the  importance  of  this  grouping.  'The  Gold  or 
precious  metal,  is  simificant  of  all  that  the  power  of  the  beautiful 
earn,  Mid,  and  of  the  strong  earth,  iron,  has  done  for  and  against 

-^^  ""o"         ^  "^y-         "^^^^  sood  is  a  quii> 

tion  I  will  endeavor  to  show  some  evidence  on  forthwith 

B.  The  Crystal  is  significant  of  all  the  power  that  Jewels,  from 
diamonds  down  through  every  Indian  gem  to  the  glass  bmds  which 
we  now  make  for  ball-dresses,  have  had  over  the  imagination  and 
economy  of  men  and  women— from  the  day  that  Adam  drank  of 
the  water  of  the  crystal  river  to  this  hour.  How  much  evil  this  is, 
you  partially  know;  how  much  good,  we  have  to  consider. 

c.  The  Onyx  is  the  type  of  all  stones  arranged  in  bands  of  different 
colors ;  it  means  primarily,  nail-stone — showing  a  separation  like  the 
white  half-crescent  at  the  root  of  the  fineer-nail;  not  without  some 
idea  of  its  subjection  to  the  laws  of  life.  Ot  these  stones,  part  whiek 
are  flinty,  are  the  material  used  for  eameoa  and  all  maaner  of  en- 


*Biod.  m.  7,  zzxT.  27,  cMVuia«  Job  abo*»  «Mted,  u<  iMkM  mm,  UL 


««4  THE  BELIOION  OF  RUSKIN 

WHY  LOVE  PBKCI0U8  8TONE8? 

aupvive,  untemflpd,  above  the  ruin.  and  no  q>mt 

42.  Ye?,  prettj  ladies  I  love  the  stones,  and  take  care  of  fh.m.  k«* 

rMCepXrV'""i,?"^  TthlSri* 

me  Master  shall  make  up  His  jewels    5fep  that  it  w.  '  wuen 


JEWELS. 


«n?  „nJ  y*"'         themselTfls,  alrr  ,telv  search 

out  and  cast  away  all  manner  of  false,  or  dyed,  or  aiterS  sTones 

tmuF^^\'^  "^^^  y°"'  eweiruJSt  they 

will  be  twenty  times  more  mteresting  to  you,  so  The  rubv  n  tS 
British  crown  is  uncut;  and  is,  as  far  as  my  knowledge  «tenl 

Wl£  W'  to  t^^^''  gentlewoman's  and  tru«  ladv? 
toowiedfB,  hmm  to  know  thoae  >toQ«f        yon  see  them,  uneit. 


REUQlOVa  STUDIES  IN  NATUBE 

So  mach  of  mineralogy  the  abonaiaee  of  modem  acieiMt  mn  I 
thiuk,  ipare,  aa  a  piece  of  iwpiiNd  Mhieatioa  f or  tba  oppvdiiiM. 


JEWELS  OF  OOD. 


45.  And  laatly,  aa  you  are  trae  in  the  ehooaing,  be  jtut  in  the 
J^"?;  ,  They  bat  droaa  and  dust  after  all ;  and 
you,  my  sweet  reliKous  frienda,  who  are  so  anxious  to  impart  to  the 
pow  your  pear  ?  of  great  price,  may  surely  also  share  with  them 
your  pearls  of  httle  pnce.  Strangely  (to  my  own  mind  at  IflMt) 
you  are  not  so  zealous  in  distributing  your  estimable  rubiea.  aa  9oa 
are  in  communicating  your  inestimable  wisdom.  Of  the  mee  of 
God,  which  you  can  give  away  in  the  quantity  you  think  others  are 
111  need  of,  without  losing  any  yourselves,  I  observe  you  to  be  affec- 
tionately lavish  ;  but  of  the  jewels  of  God,  if  any  suggestions  be  made 
by  chanty  touching  the  distribution  of  them,  you  are  apt,  in  your 
wisdom,  tr  -  ake  answer  like  th«  wiae  vinini,  "Not  to.  ImI  Ham  ba 
not  enou, ,o  via  and  yon." 

ran  TABEMSABLM  OF  (Xm. 

46.  -Die  tabernacle  of  God  is  now  with  men;— tn  men,  and  wo- 
men,  and  sucklings  also;  which  temple  ye  are,  ye  and  your  Chris- 
tian sisters;  of  whom  the  poorest,  here  in  London,  are  a  very  undeo- 
orated  shrine  indeed.   They  are  the  Tabernacle,  fair  friends,  which 
you  have  got  leave,  and  charge,  to  adorn.   Not,  in  anywise,  those 
^mnmg  churches  and  altars  which  you  wreathe  with  garlands  for 
Gods  sake,  and  the  eloquent  clergyman's.   You  are  quite  wrong, 
and  barbarous  m  language,  when  you  call  them  "Churches"  at  au! 
They  are  only  Synagogues;— the  very  same  of  which  Christ  spoke, 
with  eternal  meaning,  aa  the  places  that  hypocritea  would  love  to 
be  seen  m.  ,   You  are  yourselves  the  Church,  dears;  and 
see  that  you  be  finally  adorned,  as  women  professing  godliness,  with 
Uie  precious  stones  of  good  works,  which  may  be  quite  briefly  de- 
fied, for  the  present,  aa  decorating  the  entire  Tabernacle;  and 
clothing  your  poor  sisters,  with  yourselves.  Put  roses  also  in  their 
baa,  put  precious  stones  also  on  their  breasts;  see  that  they  also  are 
clothed  m  your  purple  and  scarlet,  with  other  delights;  that  they 
also  learn  to  read  the  gilded  heraldry  of  the  sky;  and,  upon  the 
€«rth,  be  taught,  not  only  the  labours  of  it,  but  the  loveliness.  For 
them,  also,  let  the  hereditary  jewel  recall  their  father's  pride,  their 
mothers  beauty:  so  shall  your  days,  and  theirs,  be  long  in  the  sweet 
and  sacred  land  which  the  Lord  your  God  has  given  you-  so  truly 

shall  THE  GOLD  OP  THAT  LAKD  BE  OOOD,  AKD  THBO.  ALSO  THX  CBTs! 
TAl,  AND  IHB  ONYX  WtOmm—Ck,  VII. 


St6  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

childben's  ouabdian  angoils. 
37.  Those  parents  who  love  their  chUdren  most  tenderly,  can- 
not but  sometimes  dwell  on  the  old  Christian  fancy,  that  they  have 
guardian  angels.  I  call  it  an  old  fancy,  in  deference  to  your  mod- 
ern enlightenment  in  religion;  but  I  assure  you  nevertheless,  in 
epite  of  all  that  illumination,  there  remains  yet  some  dark  possibil- 
ity that  the  old  fancy  may  be  true:  and  that,  although  the  modem 
apothecary  cannot  exhibit  to  you  either  an  angel,  or  an  imp,  in  a 
bottle,  the  spiritual  powers  of  heaven  and  hell  are  no  less  now,  than 
heretofore,  contending  for  the  souls  of  your  children;  and  contend- 
log  with  you — ^for  the  privilege  of  their  tutorship. 

DEVSLS  AND  ANOELS  CONTEND  FOB  CHILDREN. 

88.  Forgive  me  if  I  use,  for  the  few  minutes  I  have  yet  to  speak 
to  you,  the  anient  language,— metaphorical,  if  you  will,  of  Luther 
and  Fenelon,  of  Dante  and  Milton,  of  Goethe  and  Shakspeare,  of 
St.  John  and  St.  Paul,  rather  than  your  modem  metaphysical  or 
scientific  slang:  and  if  I  tell  you,  what  in  the  iasue  of  it  you  will  find 
aa  either  life-giving,  or  deadly,  fact,— that  the  fiends  and  the  angels 
contend  with  you  daily  for  the  spirits  of  your  children:  the  devil 
using  to  you  his  old,  his  hitherto  immortal,  bribes,  of  lust  and  pride: 
and  the  angels  pleading  with  you,  still,  that  they  may  be  allowed  to 
lead  your  babes  m  the  divine  life  of  the  pure  and  the  lowly.  To 
enrage  their  lusts,  and  chiefly  the  vilest  lust  of  money,  the  devils 
would  drag  them  to  the  classes  thb  t  teach  them  how  to  get  on 
in  the  wor-id;  and  for  the  better  pluming  of  their  pride,  provoke 
wwr  seal  in  the  sciences  which  will  assure  them  of  tlMir  being  no 
God  in  nature  but  the  gas  of  their  own  graves. 

And  of  these  powers  you  may  discern  the  one  from  the  other  by 
a  vmd,  instant,  practical  test.  The  devils  always  will  exhibit  to 
you  what  13  loathsome,  ugly,  and,  above  all,  dead;  and  the  anflels. 
^hat  18  pure,  beautiful,  and,  above  all,  living.— (7A.  XIL 

THE  SLOTH. 

89.  Take  an  actual,  literal  instance.  Of  all  known  quadnmedl, 
the  unhM)pie8t  and  vilest,  yet  alive,  is  the  sloth,  having  this  farther 
strange  devihry  in  him,  that  what  activity  he  is  capable  of,  is  in 
storm,  and  m  the  night.  Well,  the  devil  takes  up  this  creature,  and 
makes  a  monster  of  it,— gives  it  legs  as  big  as  hogsheads,  claws 
stretched  like  the  roots  of  a  tree,  shoulders  like  a  hump  of  crag,  and 
e  skull  as  thick  as  a  paving-stone.  From  this  nightmare  monster  he 
takes  what  poor  faculty  of  motion  the  creature,  though  wretched, 
has  m  its  minuter  size;  and  shows  you,  instead  of  the  clinging 
chmber  that  scratched  and  scrambled  from  branch  to  branch  among 
Che  nttuttg  trees  aa  tiwy  bowed  in  storm,  only  a  vast  he^>  of  stony 


BSU0I0V8  8TVDIBS  IN  NATVBE  nf 

bonea  and  stag^ring  clay,  that  drags  its  meat  down  to  its  mouth  oat 
of  the  forest  rum.  This  creature  the  fiends  dei^t  to  exhibit  to  you. 

dStKSzif     ^  ^  ^  *°      ^  ^ 

TBB  SQUIBBKL. 

40.  On  the  oflier  hand,  as  of  aU  quadrupeds  there  is  none  so 
ugly  or  so  miseraUe  as  the  sloth,  so,  take  him  for  all  in  all.  there 
IS  none  so  beautiful,  so  happy,  so  wonderful  as  the  squirrel.  Inno- 
oent  m  aU  his  ways,  harmless  in  his  food,  playful  as  a  kitten,  but 
without  cruelty,  and  aurpassmg  the  fantastic  dexterity  of  the  mon- 
key,  with  the  grace  and  the  brightness  of  a  bird,  the  little  dark- 
eyed  miracle  of  the  forest  glances  from  branch  to  branch  more  like 
a  sunbeam  than  a  living  creature:  it  leaps,  and  darts,  and  twines, 
where  It  will;— a  chamois  u  slow  to  it;  and  a  panther,  clumsy  ero^ 
tffvae  as  a  pome  gentle  as  a  fairy,  delicate  as  the  sUken  plumes 
of  the  rush,  beautifufand  strong  like  the  spiral  of  a  fern,— it  haunts 
you,  listens  for  you,  hides  from  you,  looks  for  you,  loves  you.  as  if 
the  angel  that  walks  with  your  chUdiw  had  mad*  it  l£mii  for 
their  heavenly  plaything.— Cft.  Xll.  »«— ~  *w 

TBUK  8CIEXCB  BBGINS  AST)  Mm  TK  LOVE. 

^  this  is  what  you  do,  to  thwart  alike  jcm  child's  angel,  and 
his  God,— you  take  him  out  of  the  woods  into  the  town,— tou  send 
him  from  mo^  labour  to  competitive  schooUng,— you  force  him 
<mt  of  the  fiwh  air  into  the  dusty  bonehouse,— you  show  him  the 
skeleton  of  the  dead  monster,  and  make  him  pore  over  its  rotten 
cells  and  wwMtitched  jpmts,  and  vile  extinct  capacities  of  destruo- 
tion,— and  when  he  is  choked  and  sickened  with  uselesa  horror  and 
putnd  air,  you  let  him— ratting  the  waste  of  time— so  oat  for 
once  to  play  again  by  the  woodiide^HUid  tha  lint  sqairid  he  sees, 
ne  uuows  a  stone  atl 

•9^f^'A^'  ^  beseech  you,  this  assured  truth  away  with  you  to- 
night. All  true  science  begins  in  the  love,  not  the  dissection,  of 
yoi»  feUow-creatures;  and  it  ends  in  the  love,  not  the  analysis  of 
«od.  Your  alphabet  of  science  is  in  tha  nearest  knowledge,  as  your 
alphabet  of  science  is  m  the  nearest  duty.  "Behold,  it  is  nigh  tikee. 
even  at  the  doors."  The  Spirit  of  God  is  around  yoa  in  t^ldt  ^Sit 

lw.^?!r^f^°'yhJ?'*."«*'*,*^*         '"^  f^it. 

Mum  of  the  earth,  and  the  joy  of  its  creatures,  He  has  written 
for  you,  day  by  day.  His  revelation,  ai  Ha  haa  gnatad  job.  day  hr 
day,  your  daily  bread.— C*.  m  jw,  «v 

LOOK  POB  UTEBAL  ICBANHTO  OF  TOT  BIBLE. 

48.  In  any  Boodbook,  but  especially  in  the  Bible,  yoa  must  al- 
«aya  look  te  &  Ulaid  maMiiiii  flf  amytUBg  fin^liMid^ 


««•  THE  BBLIOION  OF  BUSKIN 

and  the  cruel  venom  of  aS  "  ThS  S-t£t  S^SZ^J^^"^' 
not  the  wine  they  drink,  Lt  the  ^TS^y  Sje  S  drSt 

^»^pe  cniel  venom  of  An^f  that  brown  ^S«SS  ^ 

SALOON  AS  PBOP  OF  COU^E. 

waa  there  she  had  no  hope  of  y*Sid  to  th^^^^^^^^^ 

and  Zsider*  fifeSS^te        ^'^^  ?° 

land  can't  afforf  t^KJn  .*r,ff^^^  of  W 


^I^ISDOM  OP  8EBPENT. 


^*  *®  of  the  Serpent  may  be  I  assume  tw 

njojiMiili  IM4  mn_fo^gi„  n»  th,  da  A&lSm  6i5^ 


\ 


REUQI0V8  STUDIES  IN  NATURE  319 

pleased  with  the  goin^  down,  but  in  the  saddest  and 
«zactert  way.  aa  a  constrictor  does,  tasting  nothing  all  the  time.  You 
remember  what  Professor  Huxley  told  you— moat  interesting  it  was, 
and  new  to  me — of  the  way  the  great  boa  does  not  in  any  true  senaa 

swallow,  but  only  hitches  himself  on  to  his  meat  like  a  coalsack;  

well,  that's  the  exact  way  you  expect  your  p  ,or  modern  student' to 
hitch  himself  on  to  his  meat,  catching  and  notching  hia  teeth  into 
it,  and  dragging  the  skin  of  him  ti^t  over  it,— tul  at  last— you 
knaw  I  teldyou  a  little  while  ago  our  artists  didn't  know  a  Fnake 
from  a  sausage, — but.  Heaven  help  us,  your  University  doctoia  are 
gomg  on  at  such  a  rate  that  it  will  be  aU  wa  can  do^  aooo,  to  know 
a  man  from  a  aausage. — Vol.  II,  Ch.  1. 


BKCTITUDB  AND  HOVOB. 

66.  How  often  do  I  receive  letters  from  young  men  of  sense  and 
gnuoa,  lamec  ng  tiie  lorn  of  their  strength,  and  waste  of  their  time, 
but  andm^  always  with  the  same  saying,  "I  must  take  as  high  a  class 
as  I  can,  m  order  to  please  my  fatbar."  And  the  fathers  love  the 
lads  all  the  time,  but  yet,  in  every  word  they  speak  to  them,  prick 
the  poison  of  the  asp  into  their  young  blood,  and  sicken  their  eyea 
with  blindness  to  all  the  true  joys,  the  true  aims,  and  the  true  praisea 
of  adcmca  and  literature;  neither  do  they  ttiemselves  any  more  con> 
OMfe  that  the  only  path  of  honour  is  tlMt  of  rectitude,  and  the  only 

Elace  of  honour,  ^e  one  that  you  are  fit  for.  Make  your  children 
«)py  in  their  youth ;  let  distinction  come  to  them,  if  it  will,  after 
well-spent  and  well-remembered  years;  but  let  them  now  break  and 
eat  the  bread  of  Heaven  with  gladness  and  singleness  of  heart,  and 
send  portions  to  them  for  whom  nothing  is  prepared; — and  so 
Haavan  aend  yoo  ita  graoa— before  meat,  and  after  iW— FoL  //, 
Qh,  It 


FBOSEBFINA. 
enmiM  <»  Watbidb  Timwwu,  Bto.  (2  Vou.  1876.) 
Vol.  I.  liOmpt.  VoL  n.  9  Chaps. 

From  Greek  mythology  we  learn  of  a  goddess  Proserpina,  who  is 
said  to  have  presided  over  the  blade  of  com  when  it  sprouted  forth 
from  the  earth,  and  without  whom,  when,  one  year,  she  was  taken 
away,  not  a  blade  of  corn  grew  on  the  earth. 

From  this  myth  Ruskin  has  taken  the  name  for  a  volume  devoted, 
nol  strictly  to  Botany,  but  to  a  beautiful  and  poetic  pnsmtation  of 
the  mystery  of  growth  in  plants.  The  work  is  finely  illustrated  with 
engravings  by  the  Author's  friends.  Burgess  and  Allen. 

Let  the  i«ader  take  notice  of  the  mere  tttlea  of  the  du^ylos  ud  he 
will  see  with  what  thoroughness  and  breadth  of  view  the  subject  ia 
treated.  Here  are  the  titles  of  the  chapters  of  Vol,  I.  The  Root, 
The  Leaf,  The  Flower,  The  Stem— Outside  and  In,  The  Baric,  Gen^ 
ealogy.  The  Seed  and  the  Husk,  The  Fruit  Gift. 

This  work  was  the  product  of  years  of  study;  at  least,  of  so  much 
of  those  years,  as  Ruskin  could  give  to  it,  in  the  midst  of  his  many 
other  active  labors.  Like  all  the  rest,  too,  it  was  profoundly  true  to 
morals  and  religion.  The  work  appeals  strongly  to  lovers  of  plant 
and  tree  life,  while  it  furnishes  many  an  illustetb'  A  of  the  hrf^ 
thought  and  ipritaal  miad  of  the  irrit«. 

ROOTS. 

THEIB  ESSENTIAL  FUNCTIONS. 

3.  The  Root  has  three  great  functions: 
1st.  To  hold  the  plant  in  its  place. 
2nd.  To  nourish  it  with  earth. 
3rd.  To  receive  vital  power  for  it  from  the  earth. 
With  this  last  office  is,  in  some  degree,— and  especially  in  certain 
plants, — connected,  that  of  reproduction. 
But  in  aU  plants  the  root  has  these  thiw  esMntial  fonetioiM. 

3" 


BEUaiOUB  STVDiES  IN  NATVBS  s»t 

10.  But  the  root  hai,    fMini  to  0Mb  OM  mon  fonotiaB,  th* 
faopwtant  of  all. 

Thflre  an  some  pltnti  which  appear  to  derhre  all  their  food  from 
(ha  air — which  need  nothing  but  a  slight  prasp  of  the  ground  to 
fix  them  in  their  place.  Yet  if  we  were  to  tie  them  into  that  place, 
in  a  framework,  and  cut  them  from  their  roots,  they  would  die. 
iNot  only  in  these,  but  in  all  other  plants,  the  vital  power  by  which 
they  shape  and  feed  themselves,  whatever  that  power  may  be,  de- 
pends, I  th'nV,  on  that  slight  touch  of  the  earth,  and  strange  in- 
haritanoe  of  its  powar.  It  la  as  essential  to  the  plant's  life  as  the 
connection  of  the  head  of  an  animal  with  its  body  by  the  spine  ia 
to  the  animal.  Divide  the  feeble  nervous  thread,  and  all  life  ceases. 
Nay,  in  the  tree  ^e  root  is  even  of  ^eater  importance.  You  will 
not  kill  Uie  tree,  as  you  would  an  animal,  by  dividing  its  body  or 
trunk.  The  part  not  severed  from  the  root  will  shoot  again.  But 
in  the  xoot,  and  ita  toudi  of  the  ground,  is  the  life  of  iL—VoL  I, 

Ch.i. 

Ura  A  DSLIOHT — DBATH,  umMUOVU 

11.  What  vital  power  is,  men  of  science  are  not  a  step  nearer 
knowing  than  they  were  four  thousand*  years  ago.  They  are,  if 
anything,  farthw  mnn  knowing  now  thau  then,  in  that  they  im- 
agine themselves  nearer.  But  mtf  know  more  about  its  limitations 
and  manifestations  than  they  did.  They  have  even  arrived  at  some- 
thing like  a  proof  that  there  is  a  fixed  quantity  of  it  flowing  out  of 
things  and  into  them.  But,  for  the  present,  rest  content  with  the 
general  and  sure  knowledge  that,  fixed  or  flowing,  measurable  or  im- 
measurable— one  with  electricity  or  heat  or  light,  or  quite  distinct 
from  any  of  them— life  is  a  delightful,  and  its  negative,  death,  a 
dreadful  thing,  to  human  creatures;  and  that  you  can  give  or  gather 
a  certain  quantity  of  life  into  plants,  animals,  and  yourself  by  ww* 
dom  and  courage,  and  by  their  reverses  can  bring  upon  them  any 
quantity  of  death  you  please,  which  is  a  much  more  serious  pwnt 
HMryoatooooiUwthMiiriiatlilaaiiddaa^an.— 'F0(>/>  Ck.i. 


A  USSON  FSOII  BOOTS. 

13.  There  is  a  pretty  example  of  patience  for  us  in  this;  and  it 
would  be  well  for  young  people  generally  to  set  themselves  to  grow 
in  a  carrotty  or  tumippy  manner,  and  lay  up  secret  store,  not  canng 
to  exhibit  it  until  the  time  comes  for  fruitful  display.  But  they  miwt 
not,  in  after-life,  imitate  the  spendthrift  vegetable,  and  blossom  only 
in  the  strength  of  what  they  learned  long  ago;  else  they  soon  come 
to  contemptible  end.  Wise  people  live  like  laurels  and  cedars,  and 
so  on  mining  in  the  eaHh,  while  they  adorn  and  embahn  the  air^ 
VoLl,CK». 


Sta  THE  REIIQION  OF  RVSKIN 

THE  LISAF. 
m  MiKurnty. 

1.  "He  shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by  the  river  side,  that  bears 
its  fruit  in  its  season.  His  leaf  also  shall  not  wither;  and  you  will 
see  that  whatem  he  does  will  proqier." 

It  will  be  easy  for  you  to  recollect  the  two  eastern  figures  under 
which  the  happiness  of  the  man  is  represented,— that  he  is  like  a 
tree  bearing  fruit  "in  its  season;"  (not  so  hastily  as  that  the  frort 
pinch  it,  nor  so  late  that  no  sun  ripens  it  ;)  and  that  "his  leaf  shall 
not  fade."  I  should  like  you  to  recollect  this  phrase  in  the  Vulgate— 
"folium  ejus  non  defluet— shall  not  fall  away. — that  is  to  say,  shall 
not  fall  so  as  to  leave  any  visible  bareness  in  winter  time,  but  only 
that  others  may  come  up  in  its  place,  and  the  tne  be  always  green. 

LEAVES  AND  FBUIT. 

2.  Now,  you  know,  the  fruit  of  the  tree  is  either  for  the  oontinn- 
ance  of  its  race,  or  for  the  good,  or  harm,  of  other  creatures.  In  no 
case  is  it  a  good  to  the  tree  itself.  It  is  not  indeed,  properly,  a  part 
of  the  tree  at  all,  any  more  than  the  egg  is  part  of  the  bird,  or  the 
young  of  any  creature  part  of  the  creature  itself.  But  m  the  leaf  is 
the  strength  of  the  tree  itself.  Nay,  rightly  speaking,  the  leaves  are 
the  tree  itself.  Its  trunk  sustains;  its  fruit  burdens  and  exhausts; 
but  in  the  leaf  it  breathes  and  lives.  And  thus  also,  in  the  rastern 
symbolism,  the  fruit  is  the  labor  of  men  for  others;  but  the  leaf  is 
their  own  life.  "He  shall  bring  forth  fruit,  in  his  time;  and  his 
own  joy  and  strength  diall  be  oontinuaL" — Vol  I,  Ch.  a. 

tISSONS  OF  THE  BRANCH. 

6  Now  gather  a  branch  of  laurel,  and  look  at  it  carefully.  Yoa 
may  read  the  history  of  the  being  of  half  the  earth  in  one  of  those 
green  oval  leaves— the  things  that  the  sun  and  the  rivers  have  made 
Sut  of  dry  ground.  Daphne— daughter  of  Enipeus,  and  beloved  by 
the  Sun,— that  fable  gives  you  at  once  the  two  great  facts  about 
vegetation.  Where  warmth  is  and  moisture— there  also,  tiie  leaf. 
Where  no  warmth— there  is  no  leaf ;  where  there  is  no  dew— no 
leaf 

?!  Look,  then,  to  the  branch  you  hold  in  your  hand.  T*'"*J°'» 
can  so  hold  it,  or  make  a  crown  of  it,  if  you  choose,  is  the  first  thing 
I  want  you  to  note  of  it;— the  proportion  of  size,  namely,  between 
the  leaf  and  wou.  Great  part  of  your  life  and  character,  as  a  human 
creature,  has  depended  on  that.  Suppose  all  leaves  had  been  spacious, 
like  some  palm  leaves;  solid,  like  cactus  stem;  orthat  trees  had 
grown,  as  they  might  of  course  just  ai  easily  have  grown,  like  mwlfc* 


RBUGI0V8  STUDIES  IN  NATURE  s$s 

looms,  all  one  great  cluster  of  leaf  round  one  stalk,  I  do  not  say 
that  they  are  divided  into  small  leaves  only  for  your  delight,  or 
your  service,  as  if  you  were  the  monarch  of  everything — even  in  this 
atom  of  a  globe,  xou  are  made  of  your  proper  sixe;  and  the  leaves 
of  theirs:  tot  rraaons,  and  by  laws,  of  which  neither  the  leaves  nor 
you  know  anything.  Onljr  note  the  harmon;  between  both,  and 
the  joy  we  may  have  in  this  division  and  mystery  of  the  frivoloua 
and  tremulous  petals,  which  break  the  light  and  the  breeze, — com- 
pared to  what,  with  the  frivolous  and  the  tremulous  mind  which 
IS  in  us,  we  could  have  luid  oat  of  domei,  or  penthooaei,  or  walla 
of  M—VoL  I,  Ch.  S. 

QABDEX  OF  EDEN. 

29.  When  we  q[>eak  carelessly  of  the  traditions  respecting  the 
Garden  of  Eden,  (or  in  Hebrew,  remember,  Garden  of  Delight,)  we 
are  apt  to  confuse  Milton's  descriptions  with  those  in  the  book  of 
Genesis.  Milton  fills  his  Paradise  with  flowers;  but  no  flowers  are 
spoken  of  in  Genesis.  We  may  indeed  conclude  that  in  speaking  of 
every  herb  of  the  field,  flowers  are  included.  But  they  are  not  named. 
The  things  that  are  named  in  the  Garden  of  Delight  are  trees  only. 

The  words  are,  "every  tree  that  was  pleasant  to  the  sight  and  good 
for  food;"  and  as  if  to  mark  the  idea  more  strongly  for  us  in  the 
Septuagint,  even  the  ordinary  Greek  word  for  tree  is  not  tised,  but 
the  word  ^vAov,— literally,  every  "wood,"  every  piece  of  timber 
that  was  pleasant  or  good.  They  are  indeed  the  "vin  travi,  — ^living 
rafters  of  Dante's  Apennine.  jo  xt  t 

Do  you  remember  how  those  trees  were  said  to  be  watered?  Not 
by  the  four  rivun  onlv.  The  rivers  could  not  supply  the  place  of 
rain.  No  riven  do;  for  in  truth  they  are  the  refuse  of  ram.  No 
storm-clouds  were  there,  nor  hidings  of  the  blue  by  darkening  veu: 
but  there  went  up  a  mist  from  the  earth,  and  watered  the  face  ot 
the  ground,— or,  as  in  Septuagint  and  Vulgate,  "There  went  forth 
a  fountain  from  the  earth,  and  gave  the  earth  to  drmk.  —Vol.  I, 
Ch  S 

80.  When  Ezekid  is  describing  to  Pharaoh  the  greatness  of  the 
Assyrians,  do  you  remember  what  image  he  gives  of  them?  "B^ 
hold,  the  Assyrian  was  a  cedar  in  Lebanon,  with  faur  teandies;  and 
his  top  was  among  the  thick  boughs;  the  waters  nourished  him,  wd 
the  deep  brought  him  up,  with  her  rivers  running  round  about  htt 
plants.  Under  his  branches  did  all  the  beasts  of  the  field  bring  forth 
their  young;  and  under  hii  ihadow  dwett  aU  gnat  natums."— Foi. 
i.  Ch.  S. 

THE  OARDEIT  OF  GOD  IN  THE  NATION. 

81.  Now  hear  what  follows.  "The  cedars  in  the  Garden  of  Ooi 
could  not  hide  Urn.  The  fir  trees  were  not  like  his  boughs,  and 


THE  BEUQION  OF  RUSKIN 

the  chestnut  trees  were  not  like  his  branches;  nor  Miy  tCM  in  tb* 

Garden  of  God  was  like  unto  him  in  beauty.  ,  j 

So  that  you  see,  whenever  a  nation  rises  into  consistent,  vital,  and, 
through  many  generations,  enduring  power,  there  is  still  the  Garden 
of  God;  «till  it  is  the  water  of  life  which  feeds  the  roots  of  it;  and 
still  the  succession  of  its  people  is  imaged  by  the  perennial  leafagd 
of  trees  of  Paradise.  Other  symbols  have  been  given  often  to  Oww 
the  evanescence  and  slightness  of  our  lives— the  foam  upon  tbo 
water,  the  grass  on  the  housetop,  the  vapour  that  vanidiM  awajr; 
yet  none  of  these  are  images  of  true  human  life.  That  life,  whpn  it 
M  real,  is  not  evanescent;  is  not  slight;  does  not  vanish  away.  Every 
noble  life  leaves  tho  fibre  of  it  interwoven  for  ever  in  Uie  work  of 
the  world;  by  so  much,  evermore,  the  strenath  of  the  human  race 
has  gained;  more  stabbom  in  the  root,  higher  towards  heaven  in 
the  branch;  and,  "as  a  teU  tree,  and  as  an  oak,— whose  substance  » 
in  them  when  they  cast  their  leaves,— so  the  holy  seed  is  m  the  midst 
thereof  " 

32  Only  remember  on  what  conditions.  In  the  great  Psalm  of 
Kfe.  we  are  told  that  everything  that  a  man  doeth  shall  prosper,  so 
only  that  he  deUght  in  the  law  of  his  God,  that  he  hath  not  walked 
in  the  counsel  oftfie  wicked,  nor  sat  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful.  Is 
it  among  these  leaves  of  the  perpetual  Sprmg,— -helpful  leaves  fOT 
the  healing  of  the  nations,— that  we  mean  to  have  oai  part 
place,  or  rather  among  the  "brown  skeletons  of  leaves  that  lag,  the 
forest  brook  along"?  For  other  leaves  there  are,  and  other  streams 
that  water  Ihem,— not  water  of  life,  but  water  of  Acheron.  Autum- 
nal  leaves  there  are  that  strew  the  brooks,  in  Vallombrosa. 
member  you  how  the  name  of  the  place  was  changed:  (>ace  caUed 
'Sweet  water'  (Aqua  bella),  now,  the  Shadow  Vale."  Portion  in 
one  or  other  name  we  must  choose,  all  of  us,  with  the  Imng  olive, 
by  the  living  fountains  of  waters,  or  with  the  wild  fig  trees,  wh<»e 
l«rfage  of  human  soul  is  strewed  along  the  brooks  of  death,  in  the 
eternal  Vallomlffon. — Vol  J,  Ck.  S. 

THE  FLOWER. 

THB  MISSION  OF  THE  FLOWER. 

2  The  flower  exists  for  its  own  sake,— not  for  the  fruit's  sake. 
The  production  of  the  fruit  is  an  added  honour  to  it— is  a  grantMl 
consolation  to  us  for  its  death.  But  the  flower  is  the  end  of  the  see^ 
not  the  seed  of  the  flower.  You  are  fond  of  ckernes,  perhrai;  and 
think  that  the  use  of  cherry  blossom  is  to  produce  cherries.  Not  at 
all  The  use  of  cherries  is  to  produce  cherry  blossoms ;  just  as  the  use 
of  bulbs  is  to  produce  hyacinths,— not  of  hyacinths  to  produce  bulbs 
Nay.  that  the  flower  can  multiply  by  b  ilb,  or  root,  or  slip,  as  weU 
as  by  seed,  may  shotr  you  at  <mce  how  unmatanal  the  seed-formint 


RELIGIOUS  STUDIES  IN  NATURE  '3*5 

f uncti(»i  is  to  the  fiowtt'i  «iut«Me.  A  flower  ii  to  the  T^e^abU 
fubatanoe  what  •  emtal  b  to  the  mineral. 

3.  It  ia  because  of  its  beauty  that  its  continuance  is  worth  Heaven'* 
while.  The  elory  of  it  is  in  being, — not  in  begetting;  and  in  the 
spirit  and  substance, — not  the  change.  For  the  earth  also  has  iti 
mah  and  spirit.  Every  day  of  spring  is  the  earth's  Whit  Sunday — 
fire  Sunday.  The  falling  fire  <rf  the  lainbow,  with  the  order  of 
ili  sones,  and  the  gladneas  of  its  covenant,— 70a  may  eat  of  it,  like 
Ssdns;  but  you  feed  upon  it  only  that  voa  mav  see  it.  Do  yoa 
think  that  flowers  were  horn  to  nourish  the  blind? 

Fasten  well  in  your  mind,  then,  the  conception  of  order,  ani 
purity,  as  the  essence  of  the  flower's  being,  no  less  than  of  the  crys- 
tal's. A  ruby  is  not  made  bright  to  scatter  round  it  child-rubies; 
nor  a  flower,  hot  in  ooUatnal  and  added  honour,  to  give  birth  to 
other  flowen. 

Two  main  facts,  then,  you  have  to  study  in  every  flower:  the 
symmetry  or  order  of  it,  and  the  perfection  of  its  substance;  first, 
the  manner  in  which  the  leaves  are  placed  for  beauty  of  form ;  then 
the  spinning  and  weaving  and  blanching  of  their  tissue,  for  the 
reception  of  purest  colour,  or  refining  to  richest  surface. — VoL  I, 
Ch.4. 

PAPAVEBBHOEAa 

SCABLBT  QLOBY. 

2.  In  our  English  prayer-book  translation,  the  first  verse  of  the 
ninety-third  Psalm  runs  thus:  "The  Lord  is  King;  and  hath  put 
on  dorious  ^qpareL"  And  althou|;h,  in  the  future  republican 
world,  thrae  ere  to  be  no  lords,  no  kmgs,  and  no  ^ariaaa  apparel,  it 
will  be  found  convenient,  for  botanical  purposes,  to  remember  what 
such  things  once  were ;  for  when  I  said  of  the  poppy,  that  it  was 
"robed  in  the  purple  of  the  Csesars,"  the  words  gave,  to  any  one  who 
hfld  a  clear  idea  of  a  Csesar,  and  of  his  dress,  a  better,  and  even 
stricter,  account  of  the  flower  than  if  I  had  only  said,  with  Mr. 
Sowerby,  "petals  bright  scarlet;"  which  might  just  as  well  have  been 
said  of  a  pimpernel,  or  scarlet  geranium; — but  of  neither  of  these 
latter  should  1  have  said  "robed  in  purple  of  Csesars."  What  I 
meant  was,  first,  that  the  poppy  leaf  looks  ayed  throu^  and  through, 
like  glass,  or  Tyrian  tissue;  and  not  merely  painted:  secondly,  that 
tiie  splendour  of  it  is  proud, — almost  insolently  so.  Augustus,  in 
his  glory,  might  have  been  clothed  like  one  of  these ;  and  Saul ;  but 
not  David  nor  Solomon;  still  less  the  teacher  of  Solomon*  when 
He  puti  on  "gloiious  apparel." — VoL  I,  Ch.  S. 

DEGBEES  OF  PERFECTION  AND  DIVINE  ORDKB. 

4.  The  perception  of  beauty,  and  the  power  of  dining  physical 
eharacter,  are  baaed  on  moral  instinct,  and  on  the  pmrer  <»  denning 


3*6  THE  REUaiON  OF  RV8KIN 

animal  or  human  character.  Nor  is  it  ponible  to  My  that  OM 
flower  is  more  highly  developed,  or  one  animal  of  a  higher  order, 
than  anoUier,  without  the  assumption  of  a  divine  law  ofnerfection 
to  whidi  tho  one  mom  orafonnt  Uuun  tho  othar^Foi.  I,  Ch.  ^. 


GENEALOGY. 

nOWSB,  TBEB  AMD  ORACS. 

18.  It  is  an  historical  fact  that  for  many  oentnries  the  English 
nation  believed  that  the  Founder  of  its  religion,  spiritually,  by  the 
mouth  of  the  King  who  spake  of  all  herbs,  had  likened  himself  to 
two  flowaiir-4h«  ItoM  of  Sbanm,  and  Luy  of  the  VaU«y. 

•     •     •     •     •     ••     •     •     •     •  *-*. 

It  is  also  historical  that  the  personal  appearing  of  this  Master  of 
tm  religion  was  spoken  of  by  our  chief  religious  teacher  in  these 
terms:  'The  Grace  of  God,  that  bringeth  salvation,  hath  appeared 
unto  all  men."  And  it  is  a  constant  fact  that  this  "grace"  or 
"favor"  of  God  is  spoken  of  as  "giving  us  to  eat  of  the  Tree  of 
lifa." 

THE  B08B — THE  TYPE  OT  WOMANHOOD. 

19.  Now,  comparing  the  botanical  facta  I  have  to  express,  with 
these  historical  ones,  I  find  that  the  rose  tribe  has  been  formed 
among  flowers,  not  in  distant  and  monstrous  geologic  eras,  but  in 
the  human  epodi;— that  its  "grace"  or  favor  has  been  in  all  coun- 
tries so  felt  as  to  cause  its  acceptance  everywhere  for  the  most  perfect 
physical  type  of  womanhood;— and  that  the  char.>i;toristic  fruit  of 
the  tribe  is  so  sweet,  that  it  has  become  symbolic,  at  once  of  the  sub- 
tlest temptation,  and  the  kindest  ministiy  to  the  earthly  pasnon  of 
the  human  race.  "Cotofort  me  with  vpplah  for  I  am  mux  of  low. 
— Foi.  /,  Ch.  11. 

MORAL  INIXUENCE  OF  FLOWERS. 

37.  But  through  all  the  defeats  by  which  insolent  endeavors  to 
Bum  the  orders  of  Creation  must  be  reproved,  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  successes  by  which  patient  insight  will  be  surprised,  the  fact  of 
the  eonfirmation  of  species  in  plants  and  animals  must  remainal- 
ways  a  miraculous  one.  "VThat  outstretched  sign  of  constant  Omj 
nipotence  can  be  more  awful,  than  that  the  susceptibility  to  external 
influences,  with  the  reciprocal  power  of  transformation,  in  the  o^ 
cans  of  the  plant;  end  the  infinite  powers  of  moral  training  and 
mental  conception  over  the  nativity  of  animals,  should  be  so  re- 
strained withm  impassable  limits,  and  by  inconceivable  laws,  that 
from  generation  to  generation,  under  all  the  clouds  and  revolutions 
of  heaven  with  its  stars,  and  among  all  the  calamities  and  convul- 
sions of  the  Earth  with  her  passions,  the  nmnben  and  the  names 


RELIQIOVS  STUDIES  IN  NATVBE  W 

of  her  Kindred  may  BtUl  be  counted  for  her  in 
still  the  fifth  sweet  leaf  unfold  for  the  Rose,  and  the  lutth  spr  ng 
for  the  Uly  ;  and  yet  the  woU  rave  tamelew  round  the_folda  of  the 
mountains,  and  yet  tht  tif«  flUM  thfon^i  Om  lonUi  of 
Um  ni^it^Kd.  /,  Ch.  11. 

SVUBEB  OF  DATS. 

9.  We  describe  a  plant  ai  sinaU  or  gnat;  and  think  we  have 
given  account  enough  of  ita  nature  and  firing. .  But  the  chief  quej- 
tion  for  the  plant,  as  for  the  human  creature,  M  the  Number^^ 
days;  for  to  the  tree,  as  to  its  maater,  the  words  •»  Mtvm  true— 
•'Ai  thy  Day  is,  M  iImU  thy  Stnngth  b0.">-FoI.  I,  Ok.  If. 

nJOfntU  AM)  BIlDi  AKB  TM  FUTOM  lOT. 

43  What  the  colours  of  flowers,  or  of  birds,  or  of  precious  stones, 
or  of' the  sea  and  air,  and  the  blue  mountains,  and  the  evemng  and 
the  morning,  and  the  deads  of  Heaven,  were  given  for-they  only 
know  who  hn  see  them  and  can  '"^.^^d  P^^^f^ 
and  the  love  of  them  may  be  prolonged,  wh«w  eheOs  wiU  nol  X«w, 
nor  soiMta  dio^Fol.  Up  Ck.  1. 

TBS  BBAVTT  OF  BKUQIOV  IK  WOMEN. 

48  It  will  not  be  found,  on  reference  to  my  other  books,  thirt 
thev  encourage  young  ladies  to  go  into  convents;  or  undervalQe  tM 
digniw  of  wives^and  mothers.  %ut,  as  surely  as  the  sun  do«.  sever 
day  from  night,  it  will  be  found  always  that  the  noblest  and  love- 
liest  women  we  dutiful  and  religious  by  continual  nature;  and  theu 
SJTare  trained  to  obey  tham :  Uke  their  dogs  Homer  indeed, 
loves  Helen  with  all  his  heart,  and  restores  her,  after 
tiness,  to  the  queenship  of  her  household;  but  he  never  thmks  of  h« 
as  Penelope's  equal,  or  Iphigenia's.  Practically,  m  d»f Y  «• 
often  sees  married  women  as  good  as  saints;  but  rarelv,  I  gmk,  un- 
less they  have  a  good  deal  to  bear  from  tl»e«:^^f^°^.=^"??S^ 
also,  no  doubt,  the  husbands  have  somo  traobk  m  nmaffiag  BL 
Cadlia  m  St.  KVu&beth.— Fol.  II,  Ch.  1. 


VI 


TBI  BTOBM  CXOUD  OF  THE  NINETIEXTH  OBFTOBT. 
Two  laonnM.  (1884.) 

These  two  lec'tures,  '-slivered  before  ?nch  critii  '  nple  as  vt'ts 
accustomed  to  aaemUi  *.  The  London  Institution,  nhen  viewed  in 
conn«ction  with  all  tfie  uAer  ^mam  Raddn'fl  stndMs,  iaoBtnO* 
th«  pomprehensiv  ness  of  his  mincL  W«  tmnxA  do  batltf  hiw  thlB 
quote  CoUio^ood,  who  says: — 

"His  (Ruekin's)  journali  for  fifty  y-ars  part  had  kapt  earefal  ao- 
count  of  the  weath  ^  and  effects  of  cloud.  .  .  .  The  'piafoa 
<mnd,'  so  he  called  it— tremulous,  intermittent,  blighting  grasB  md 
trcco  Mow  from  no  fix<  1  point  <^  tiie  eampaa,  bat  always  bronj^ 
(ha  aona  dirty  .-ky  in  place  of  th.  heaWby  rain-cloud  of  normal  su' 
man;  and  &e  very  thundeistitnns  seamed  to  be  altered  by  its  >  < 
flumee  into  foul  and  powerkai  abortions  of  tempest.  .  .  .  Na- 
ture and  Art  seemed  to  be  suffering  together—'  e  time  wer.  it  of 
joint;  and  these  were  but  signs  and  warnings  of  a  more  ?t;riou» 
gloom.  For,  feeling  as  he  did  the  eight  of  hmnan  wroBg  araimrt 
which  it  was  hi  mis^'ion  to  i  - ophesy,  believing  ia  a  Divine  r  '^m- 
ment  of  the  world  in  all  its  li  ralness,  he  had  the  ooucage  U  i^ear 
before  a  London  audience,  lik.*  any  seer  of  old,  and  to  tdl  &»g  thi* 
this  eclipse  of  heaven  wa*— if  not  a  judgment — at  al  tvea^  a  sym- 
bol of  the  moral  darkness  of  a  nation  that  ha  '  'bbsph  tied  tht  name 
of  God  deliberately  md  openly;  and  had  ^  iniqu  n'  p-oda- 
mation,  every  num  doing  as  much  injustice  iis  brtrt  luau  a«  it 
was  in  his  power  to  do.'   Tt  sounded  ''ke  a      >e  n  il- 

derness;  to  those  that  sat  xi  east,  a  jesi  ;  to  '  w  thou  is 
religious  feeling  and  without  his  ardent  mperan,  werr 
working  for  the  same  en  '  of  justice  to  the  oppressed,  i.  si 
fanaticism.  But  to  him,  growing  old,  a-  •  wearying  for  tl  - 
doei  of  Heaven  i^kh  ka  diiaiMil  at  lart  oi  seeing,  ther  as  i  A 
one  reality— the  gr^at  f-  t,  a?  he  knew  it,  of  lod  aboive,  and  mm 
either  obeying  or  withsUiiMiing  Him." 

pa 


re.' 
Iff. 


MEUatOVB  STUDIES  IN  NATURE 


3*9 


With  his  ch«racteri»tic,  critical,  mind  liuakin  sharply  deals  wi'h 
MB0  «(  lb*  atattmenU  of  Sdentiata  in  th«se  lectuna,  as  for  exampi* 


•Ttais,  when  Professor  lyndall,  endeavoring  to  wnte  poetically 
f  the  Jun,  tells  you  that  "The  Lilies  of  the  field  are  his  workman- 
vHD '  you  may  observe,  first,  that  since  the  sun  is  not  a  man,  nothing 
tiiAt  be  does  ia  worknuuuhip;  while  even  the  figurative  sUtement 
that  he  rejoices  at  a  atrong  man  to  run  his  course,  is  one  which 
Professor  Tyndall  has  no  intention  whatever  of  admitUng.  Ana 
vob  may  then  observe,  in  the  second  place,  that,  if  even  in  that  fig- 
lira'  ese  he  lilies  of  the  field  are  the  sun's  workmanship,  in  the 
mm  iensc  ^  lilies  of  the  hothouse  are  the  stove's  workmanship,— 
tai  i  perlMtly  logical  parallel,  you,  who  are  alive  her  'o  listen  to 
TT  lecause  vou  have  been  warned  and  fed  through  tu^  vinter,  are 
1     'Ofiw    ship  of  your  own  coa^-^eottlea." 

be  -    tly  appreciated  this  work  should  be  read  as  a  whole ;  in- 
Tie  r   ill  the  works  of  Ruskin  in  a  very  eminent  da- 
Bt    iwill.   ve  the  purpose  of  this  volume  to  quote  the  fol- 
lowing closing  sentetjeee: — 

What  consolation,  or  what  courage,  through  plague,  danger  or 
4arkness.  you  can  find  in  the  con  iction  that  you  are  nothing  more 
tlum  brute  beasts  driven  by  brute  forces,  your  other  tutors  can  tell 
wo—not  I :  but  thU  I  can  tell  you— and  with  the  authority  of  all  the 
^Httten  of  thought  since  time  was  t  me,— that,  while  by  no  manner 
TvTvisection  you  can  learn  wfca^  .  Be«*  i..  by  o»Jy  ^8 
vour  own  hearts  you  may  know  at  a  Jfon  i«,-and  know  hu 
r  ily  true  happiness  is  to  live  ii  ^  of  something  to  he  won  by 
him,  in  Wrence  of  something  worshipped  by  him,  and  m 
Love  of  something  to  be  cheri-shc  ti, 

Having  these  iSstincts,  his  only  r  al  conclusion  is  that  the  ob- 
jects wWch  can  fulfil  them  may  be  is  effort  gained,  and  by  his 
S  decerned  ;  and  his  only  eirthly  wisdom  »  to  accept  the  united 
tLtimony  of  the  men  who  have  sought  these  titan»i  m  the  way  they 
were  commanded.  Of  whom  no  single  one  has  «w  "^J^J^J 
obedience  or  his  faith  had  been  vam,  or  found  hims^  Sf.^'SS 
SKchoir  of  the  living foola,  whethar  hire,  or  deptftad.  for  whom  tiw 
song  was  written :" — 

God  be  merci!^.  unto  n..  *ud  bleM  »».  ""J  ^''••Jll' SSL'STbSm* 
That  Thy  way  may  be  known  upon  "V^^^  "'»«L*^J^3S*  A. 
Oh  let  Ae  naUona  rejoice  and  dng  tot  J«r.  '«  ThMi  *•»  »ida«  »• 


Tkmt  ihaU  tht  witk  jiM  ter  luamm,  ma*  Gm 


Oed,  ««M  Mff  aw»  Ml  ihaB 


OoditaU 


«i,  and  an  dM  Mdi  «(  As  «ettt  AaS  far  BIsb 


VII 


IN  MONTIBUB  SANCTIS. 
Stumh  ov  Mouktaik  Fobm.  THBn  CHAPt.  (1884.) 

Mr.  Rti^in  found  freqaent  calls  for  repeating  his  leetores  and  for 

resetting  certain  portions  of  his  larger  works  so  as  to  emphasize  suh* 
jects  whidi  were  of  wider  interest.  This  is  a  work  of  that  charact'/r 
In  the  preface  the  author  says: — ^"I  recuTe  at  present,  with  in> 
ereasing  frequency,  requests  or  counsels  from  people  whose  wialiM 
and  advice  I  respect,  for  the  reprinting  of  Modem  Painters.  .  .  . 
The  following  paper,  prepared  to  be  read  before  the  Mineralogical 
Society  .  .  .  and  proposing,  in  brief  abstract,  the  queationa 
which  are  at  the  root  of  rock-science,  may  not  unfitly  introduce  the 
chapters  of  geological  inquiry,  begun  at  the  foot  of  the  Matterhom 
thirty  years  ago." 

The  paper,  thus  referred  to,  constitutes  the  first  of  the  three  chap- 
ters, the  second  and  third  being  reprints  from  Modem  Painters,  viz.: 
"Tht  Dry  Land"  and  "Materials  of  Mountains."  Selections  from 
Hmm  will  be  foond  in  their  otdar^— iSm  Book  ii,  M.  P.  4mtd  S, 


VIII 


(X)ELI  ENBABRAST. 
Brvsam  or  GbooD  Fooc  Two  Cbam.  (1884.) 

Thii  it  a  oontinnance  of  In  MowHlm  Stmetia.  The  two  ch^>ten: 
**The  Firmament"  and  "Cloud  Balancing"  being  reprints,  with 
■ome  slight  changes,  from  Modem  Painters.  They  are  certainly  of 
great  interest  from  our  present  view-point  and  selections  will  be 
found  in  their  order. — See  Book  ii,  M.  P.  4  and  5. 

In  the  preface  to  this  reprint,  written  twenty-eight  years  after 
«he  iasiM  of  the  original  work,  Mr.  Bnddii  says:— 

"I  find  nothing  to  alter,  and  Util*  to  explain,  in  the  following 
portions  of  my  former  work.  ...  But  it  may  be  necessary  to 
advise  the  student  of  these  dupters  not  to  interpret  any  of  thdf  ««- 
l»esBioiis  4^  aw*  or  <«onder  as  meaning  to  attribute  any  supernatural, 
or  in  any  special  sense  miraculous,  character  to  the  phenomena  de- 
scribed, other  than  that  of  thdr  adaptation  to  human  feeHng  o» 
need.  I  did  not  in  the  leart  mean  to  insinuate,  .  .  .  that  be- 
cause the  forms  of  a  thunder  doud  were  terrific,  that  they  were 
less  natural  than  those  of  a  diamond;  but  in  all  tiie  forms  and 
actions  of  nonsentient  things,  I  recognised  constant  miracle,  and 
according  to  the  nMd  and  dsMTving  of  man,  mora  or  tai  constantly 

manifest  Duty." 


DC 


HORTUS  INCLUSUS. 
Lnnu  TO  Two  Lad».  (1887.) 

If  any  lady  is  seeking  a  string  of  pearls,  set  in  gold,  let  her  read 
these  letters.  Tliey  were  written  by  Raskin  to  two  ladies,  (sisters) 
Mary  and  Sasairaa  Beever,  in  1874-6,  and  were  edited  for  pafalietp 
tion  by  Albert  iTleming  who,  at  the  reqaert  of  Rnddn,  added  mhim 
of  the  correspondence  from  "Susie." 

In  his  preface  Ruskin  says:— "The  ladies  to  whom  these  letten 
wne  writtm  have  been,  throughout  their  brightly  tranquil  lives,  at 
once  sources  and  loadstones  of  all  good  to  the  village  in  which  they 
had  their  homes.  Sources  they  have  been  of  good,  like  one  of  the 
mountain  springs,  ever  to  be  found  in  need.  .  .  .  The  poor 
and  the  sick  could  find  them  always;  or  rather,  they  watched  for 
and  prevented  all  poverty  and  pain  that  care  and  tenderness  coold 
relieve  or  heal.  Loadstones  they  were,  as  steadily  bringing  the 
light  of  gentle  and  wise  souls  about  them  as  the  crest  of  their  gu.J^ 
dian  mountain  gives  pause  to  the  morning  clouds;  in  themselvea 
they  woe  types  of  perfect  womanhood  in  its  constant  happinea^ 
queens  alike  of  their  own  hearts  and  of  a  Paradise  in  which  they 
knew  the  names  and  sympathised  with  the  spirits  of  every  living 
oeatoie  that  God  had  made  to  play  therein,  or  to  UoMom  in  ite  mip 
■hine  or  shade." 

Mr.  Fleming  adds: — "The  letters  are  the  fruit  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful Mendship  I  have  been  p«rmitted  to  witneaa.  .  .  .  Mr.  Rus- 
kin has  desired  me  to  add  a  few  words,  giving  my  own  'description 
of  Susie,  and  speaking  of  my  relation  to  them  both.  To  him  I  owe 
the  guidance  of  my  life--«n  its  heal  impnlaei,  all  iti  worthieak 
efforts;  to  her  some  of  its  hxps^  boon,  and  tlte  blwdnp  dike  of 
incentive  and  reproof." 

"Susie's"  Irtten  are  dwnningly  Ml  of  Urda  and  die  aaemr 
with  Umbo. 


X 


THE  KING  OF  THE  GOLDEN  BIVEB. 
A  Faiby  Story.  (1851.) 

The  Publiahen  of  this  story  state  in  their  advertisement  that 
it  was  written  "at  the  request  of  a  very  young  lady,  and  solely  for 
her  anrasement,  wHhoot  any  idea  of  pubUcation.  It  has  sinw  re- 
mained in  the  possession  of  a  friend,  to  whose  suggestion,  and  the 
passive  assent  of  the  author,  the  publishers  arc  indebted  for  the  op- 

portunity  of  printing  it."  t  •*    *  t»  u:- 

If  the  reader  wUl  turn  to  the  first  chapter  of  our  Life  of  Ka«jn 
he  may  find  an  account  of  tiiis  somewhat  humorous  incident.  T*e 
rtory  is  of  tiie  grotesque  order  and  its  tiieme  may  be  judged  by  the 
title  of  its  first  Chapter:— "How  the  Agricultural  system  of  the  Bkck 
Brothen  was  interfered  witii  by  Southwest  Wind  Esquire. 

To  «his  itary  b  added  an  Ulustrated  Nursery  Rhyme  of  TJame 
Wiggins  of  Lee  and  her  Wonderful  Cats,"  which  might  weU  tod  a 
place  in  our  Nuieery  Uterature,  instead  of  such  horrors  ae  ab»' 
beard,"  and  oUmt  maaniai^  and  often  immoral  rhymes. 
These  stories  ■»«•  to  imal  an  oanipMtod  aide  of  Boikin'e 

tile  mind. 


BOOK  FIFTH 


Religious  Lessons  in  Political 
Economy  and  Other  Prac- 
tical Questions 


RELIGIOUS  LESSONS  IN 
POLITICAL  ECONOMY 


I 

A  JOY  FOB  EVER. 
Two  IjRTom— wnH  Aoonnnra.  (1857.) 

1.  Diwowiy  aad  Application  of  Art. 

2.  Acgunnihtion  and  Dtftribatum. 

The  subject  of  this  treatise  was  first  presented  in  the  form  of 
lectuiM  which  were  delivered  at  Manchester  (England).  These 
ketaies  were  paUished  the  aame  year  und«  th«  title,  "The  Politi- 
cal Economy  of  Art."  Afterwards  they  were  reprinted,  with  ad- 
denda, under,  the  present  title  which  Mr.  Ruakin  sayi  wai  niggested 
by      line  tnm  Km^>— 

"A  thing  of  betnty  is  a  joy  for  ever." 

The  work  is  a  viforaoi  defence  of  the  democracy  of  truth  in 
leli^ifm  to  wealth  as  against  the  eoirait  ^kietobe  of  plntoiiomy. 
TIm  qorit  of  it  is  revealed  in  the  opening  of  the  first  lecture: — 

Among  the  various  characteristics  of  the  age  in  which  we  live, 
M  compued  with  other  ages  of  this  not  yet  very  ezperineed  worid, 
«M  of  the  most  notable  appears  to  me  to  be  the  just  and  whole- 
aome  contempt  in  whidi  we  hold  poverty.  I  rq>eat,  the  /lut  and 
whoUtome  contempt;  ...  I  sho^  not  have  Tontoxed  to  nak  yott 
to  listen  to  me,  unless  I  had  entertained  a  profound  respect  foe 
wealth— true  wealth,  that  is  to  say;  for,  of  coarse,  we  ou^^t  to  ra- 
spect  neither  wMlth  nor  anything  else  Uttt  is  falw  of  Ha  kind.  .  .  . 
^t  true  wealth  I  hold  in  great  honour;  and  sympathize,  for  the 
most  part,  with  that  aatraaadinary  feeling  of  the  present  afle  which 
publicly  pays  this  honow  to  fkkM.  .  ^  . 

Par  waijtt  ia  napllr^i*  tfl^V^*^  pewm  mMek  can  ha 


SjS  THE  RELiaiON  OF  BUSKIN 


•ntmsted  to  human  hands:  a  power,  not  indeed  to  be  envied,  be- 
cause it  seldom  makes  us  happy;  but  still  less  to  be  abdicated  or 
despised;  while,  in  these  days,  and  in  this  country,  it  has  beoome 
•  power  all  the  more  notable,  in  that  the  possessions  of  a  rich  man 
are  not  represented,  as  they  used  to  be,  by  wedges  of  gold  or  cof- 
fers of  jewels,  but  by  masses  of  men  rariously  employed,  over 
whose  bodies  and  minds  the  wealth,  according  to  its  direction,  ex- 
ercises harmful  or  helpful  influence,  and  becomes,  in  that  alter- 
native. Mammon  either  of  Unrighteoosness  or  of  Rig^teonsness. 

Not  the  least  valuable  part  of  the  work  is  the  "Addenda,"  which 
embraces  the  subjects  of  "Fatherly  Authority,"  "Right  to  Public 
Support,"  Publio  Favour,"  "Eeoncmj  of  literstnre,"  "Silk  and 
Purple."  Also^  •ddzMSSt  on  «miciition  in  Art," ''Sodd  Fdiey,'' 
etc. 

THE  MEANINO  OF  STEWARDSHIP. 

115.  The  lesson  is  given  under  the  form  of  a  story  about  money. 
Money  was  given  to  the  servants  to  make  use  of:  the  unprofitable 
servant  dug  in  the  earth,  and  hid  his  Lord's  money.  Well,  w% 
in  our  politicd  and  spiritual  application  of  this,  say,  that  of  course 
money  doesn't  mean  money,  it  means  wit,  it  means  intellect,  it 
means  influence  in  high  quarters,  it  means  everything  in  the  world 
except  itself.  And  do  not  you  see  what  a  pretty  and  pleasant  come- 
off  there  is  for  most  of  us,  in  this  spiritual  application?  Of  course, 
if  we  had  wit,  we  would  use  if  for  the  good  of  our  fellow-creatures. 
But  we  haven't  wit.  Of  course,  if  we  had  influence  with  the  bishops, 
we  would  use  it  for  the  good  of  the  Church;  but  we  haven't  any 
influence  with  the  bishops.  Of  course,  if  we  had  political  power, 
we  would  use  it  for  the  good  of  the  nation ;  but  we  have  no  politi- 
cal power;  we  have  no  talents  entrusted  to  tu  of  any  sort  or  kind. 
It  is  true  we  have  a  little  money,  but  the  parable  can't  possibly 
mean  anything  so  vulgar  as  money;  our  money's  our  own. 

I  believe,  if  you  think  seriously  of  this  matter,  you  will  feel 
that  the  first  and  most  literal  application  is  just  as  necessary  •  ooo 
as  any  other — ^that  ilie  story  does  very  specially  mean  what  it  say^— 
plain  money;  and  that  the  reason  we  don't  at  once  believe  it  does 
so,  is  a  sort  of  tacit  idea  that  while  thought,  wit,  and  intellect,  and 
all  power  of  birth  and  position,  are  indetu  niven  to  us,  and,  there- 
fore, to  be  laid  out  for  the  Giver, — our  vinith  has  not  been  given 
to  us;  but  we  have  worked  for  it,  and  hav  ■  a  right  to  spend  it  as 
we  choose.  I  think  you  will  find  that  is  the  real  substance  of  our 
understanding  in  this  matter.  Beauty,  we  say,  is  «ven  by  God 
—it  is  a  talent;  stren^h  is  given  by  God — ^it  Is  a  tuent;  positiMi 
Is  givm  by  God— it  is  a  tatent;  Imt  mtrnqr  i*  impw  inifas  for 


RBUQI0V8  LBSaONS  IN  POUTWAL  MOONOMT  m 

our  day's  work — it  in  not  a  talent,  it  ia  a  due.  We  may  joitty  ipwd 
U  on  ounelvet,  if  we  have  workied  for  it. — Leet.  II. 

MONXY  AMD  TALXNT8. 

117.  There  would  be  some  shadow  of  excuse  for  this,  were  it  not 
that  the  very  power  of  making  tfie  money  is  itself  only  one  of 
the  Indications  of  that  intellect  or  strength  which  we  confess  to 
be  taienti.  Why  is  one  man  richor  than  another?  Because  he  ia 
more  industrious,  more  persevering,  and  more  sagacioua.  WelL 
who  made  him  more  persevering  and  more  sagacious  than  othersT 
That  power  of  endurance,  that  Quickness  of  apprehension,  that 
calmness  of  judgment,  wluch  enable  him  to  seize  the  opportuni- 
ties  that  oUiers  lose,  and  persist  in  the  lines  of  conduct  in  which 
others  fail — are  ^ese  not  talents? — are  thev  not  in  the  present  state 
of  the  world,  among  the  most  distinguishea  and  influential  of  men- 
tal  gifts?  And  is  it  not  wonderful,  that  while  we  thoold  be  iit» 
terlv  ashamed  to  use  a  superiority  of  body,  in  order  to  thmst  oar 
weaker  companions  aside  from  some  place  of  advantage,  we  un- 
hesitatingly use  our  superiorities  of  mind  to  thrust  them  back 
from  whatever  good  that  strength  of  mind  can  attain.  You  would 
be  indignant  if  you  saw  a  strong  man  walk  into  a  theatre  or  a 
lecture-room,  and,  calmly  choosing  the  best  place,  take  his  feeble 
ndghboor  by  the  shoulder,  and  turn  him  out  of  it  into  the  back 
seats,  or  the  street.  Yon  would  be  equally  indignant  if  yon  saw  a 
stout  fellow  thrust  himself  up  to  a  table  where  some  hungry  chil- 
dren were  being  fed,  and  reach  his  arm  over  their  heads  and  take 
their  bread  from  them.  But  you  are  not  the  least  indignant  if 
when  a  man  has  stoutness  of  thought  and  swiftness  of  capacity, 
and,  instead  of  beine  long-armed  only,  has  the  much  greater  gift 
of  being  long-headed— you  think  it  perfectly  just  that  he  should 
use  his  mtellect  to  take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  all  the  otiisr 
men  in  Uie  town  who  are  of  the  same  trade  with  him;  t»  use  his 
breadth  and  sweep  of  sight  to  gather  some  brandi  of  the  oommeroe 
of  the  country  into  one  great  cobweb,  of  which  he  is  himself  to 
be  the  central  spider,  making  every  thread  vibrate  with  the  points 
of  his  claws,  and  commanding  every  avenue  with  ths  fMels  <tf  his 
^yes.  You  see  no  injustioe  in  this. — Lect.  II. 

WHAT  FOOLS  ABE  FOB. 

118.  But  there  is  injustice;  and,  let  us  trust,  one  of  which  honour^ 
able  men  will  at  no  verv  distant  period  disdain  to  be  guilty.  Ip  ^ome 
^b^rs^  howew,  it  is  mdeed  not  unjust;  in  some  d^^  it  nee> 
eswry  and  hiten^tod.  It  is  asnnedly  just  that  idleness  dioald  bo 
suipMsed  by  energy;  that  the  widest  influence  should  be  possessed 
\iy  Hum  who  are  best  able  to  wield  it;  and  that  a  wise  man,  at 
4m  end  of  1^  euMT.  lieBld  bt  bell»  off  tiiaa  •  ImL  But  for  tha* 


S4«  THE  BEUGWN  Of.  BUSKIN 

TCUOD,  IS  the  fool  to  be  wretched,  utterW  crushed  down,  and  left  in 
•11  the  suffering  which  his  conduct  ana  MfMcity  naturally  jnflict? 
— Not  so.  What  do  you  suppoaa  f<M^  wm  mad*  for?  Tluit  yoa 
mi^t  tread  upon  them,  and  starve  them,  and  set  the  better  of 
them  in  every  possible  way?  By  no  means.  They  were  made 
that  wise  people  might  take  care  of  them.   That  is  the  true  and 

Slain  fact  concerning  the  relations  of  every  strong  aud  wise  man 
>  the  world  about  him.  He  has  his  strength  given  him,  not  that 
1m  mnr  crnah  the  wMk,  but  that  he  ma^  support  and  guide  them. 
In  his  own  household  he  is  to  be  the  guide  and  the  support  of  his 
children;  out  of  his  household  he  is  still  to  be  the  father,  that 
is,  the  guide  and  support  of  the  weak  and  the  poor;  not  merely 
of  the  meritoriously  weak  and  the  innocently  poor,  but  of  the 

Siltily  and  punishably  poor;  of  the  men  who  ought  to  have  known 
tter  of  the  poor  who  ought  to  bo  ashamed  of  themselves.  It 

it  nothing  to  give  pension  and  cottage  to  the  widow  who  has  lost 
her  son;  it  is  nothing  to  give  food  and  medicine  to  the  workman 
who  has  broken  his  arm,  or  the  decrepit  woman  wasting  in  sick- 
ness. But  it  is  something  to  use  you  time  and  strength  to  war  with 
the  waywardness  and  thoughtlesmess  of  mankind;  to  keq[>  th«  m- 
ing  workman  in  your  service  till  you  have  made  him  an  tmerp- 
ing  one;  and  to  direct  your  fellow-merchant  to  the  opportunity 
which  his  dulness  would  have  lost.  This  is  much;  but  it  is  yet 
mora,  when  you  have  fully  achieved  the  superiority  which  u  due 
to  you,  and  acquired  the  wealth  which  is  the  fitting  reward  of  your 
sagacity,  if  you  solemnly  accept  the  responsibility  of  it,  at  tt  is 
tba  iMm  MM  guide  of  labour  nr  and  imi.~-L«et.  II. 

KJBK>IISIBILITT  OV  WSAXffB. 

119  You  who  have  it  in  your  hands,  are  in  reality  the  pilots 
<^  the  power  and  effort  of  the  State.  It  is  entrusted  to  you  as  an 
authority  to  bo  used  for  good  wr  evil,  just  as  completely  as  kingly 
authority  was  war  aven  to  a  prince,  or  military  command  to  a 
captain.  And  aoonrding  to  Ac  quantity  of  it  that  you  have  in 
your  hands,  you  are  the  arbiters  of  the  will  and  work  of  En^imd; 
and  the  whole  issue,  whether  the  work  of  the  State  shall  suffice 
for  the  State  or  not,  depends  upon  you.  You  may  stretch  out  your 
sceptre  over  the  heads  of  the  English  labourers,  and  say  to  them, 
M  tiiey  stoop  to  its  waving,  "Subdue  this  obstacle  that  has  baffled 
our  fathers,  put  away  this  plajjue  that  consumes  our  chjldren; 
water  these  dry  places,  plough  these  deaert  ones,  «rry  ^  food  to 
those  who  are  in  hunger;  carry  this  light  to  thoaa^io  to 
darkness;  carry  this  life  to  those  who  are  m  death;  »  on  tbe 
other  side  you  may  say  to  her  labourers:  "Here  am  I;  this  power 
is  in  my  hand;  come,  build  a  mound  here  for  me  to  be  throned 
vpan,  Ugh  and  wide;  oome,  make  crowns  for  my  haad,  that  msn 


RELIOIOVS  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  341 

may  see  them  shine  from  far  away;  come,  weave  ti^Mftriet  for 
my  feet,  that  I  may  tread  softly  on  the  silk  and  pniida;  coma, 
duiM  before  ma,  that  I  may  ba  gay ;  and  tin^; :  ^veetly  to  me,  that 
I  may  alumber;  so  shall  I  uve  m  joy,  and  di*>  in  honour."  And 
'better  than  such  an  honourable  death,  it  were  that  the  day  had 
peritbed  wherein  we  were  bom,  and  the  night  in  which  it  waa  laid 
UMit  k  •  diild  eonoeivedw— li. 

TBI  utmmt  Axj>  HONoiim  ov  waaira. 

120.  A  time  will  come — I  do  not  think  even  now  it  is  far  from  us 
—when  this  golden  net  of  the  world's  wealth  will  be  spread  abroad 
aa  the  flaming  meshes  of  morning  cloud  are  over  the  sky;  bearing 
with  them  the  joy  of  light  and  the  dew  of  the  morning,  as  ww 
as  the  summons  to  honourable  and  peaceful  toil.  What  leas  can 
we  hope  from  your  wealth  than  this,  rich  men  of  England,  whan 
once  vou  feel  fully  how,  by  the  strensth  of  your  possessions— 
not,  observe,  by  the  exhaustion,  but  by  the  admmistration  of  tibem 
and  the  power — you  can  direct  the  acts, — command  the  energies 
— inform  the  ignorance, — prolong  the  existence,  of  the  whole  human 
race;  and  how,  even  of  worldly  wisdom,  which  man  employs  faith- 
fully, it  ia  true,  not  only  that  her  ways  are  pleasantness,  mit  that  h&e 
paths  aia  peace;  and  tnat,  for  all  tne  children  of  men,  as  wdl  •■ 
lor  those  to  whom  she  ia  siven,  Leni;^  of  days  is  in  her  r^{fat 
band,  ••  in  bar  kfl  hand  BidMi  and  WNBOorf— //. 

PROVIDENCB  AND  HUMAN  ACTION. 

133.  We  are  much  in  the  habit  of  considering  happy  acddents  as 
what  are  called  "q>ecial  Providences;"  and  winkmg  that  when 
any  ^;reat  work  needs  to  be  done,  the  man  who  is  to  do  it  will 
certainly  be  pointed  out  by  Providence,  be  he  shepherd  or  sea- 
boy  ;  and  prepared  for  his  work  by  all  kinds  of  minor  providences, 
in  the  best  possible  way.  Whereas  all  the  analogies  of  God's  op- 
erations in  other  matters  prove  the  contrary  of  this;  we  find  that 
"of  thousand  seeds.  He  often  brings  but  one  to  bear,"  often  not  one; 
and  the  one  seed  which  He  appoints  to  bear  is  allowed  to  bear 
crude  or  perfect  fruit  according  to  the  dealings  of  the  husbandman 
with  it.  And  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  person 
accustomed  to  take  broad  and  logical  views  of  the  world's  history, 
tiiat  its  events  are  ruled  by  Providence  in  precisely  the  same  man- 
nu  m  ita  harvests;  that  the  seeds  of  good  end  evil  are  broadcast 
noBost  mm,  just  as  the  seeds  of  thistlea  and  fruits  are:  and  that 
acoormng  to  the  force  of  onr  industry,  and  wisdom  of  our  hus- 
bandry, the  ground  will  bring  forth  to  us  figs  or  thistles.  So  that 
when  it  seems  needed  that  a  certain  work  should  be  done  for  the 
world,  and  no  man  is  there  to  do  it,  we  have  no  right  to  say  that 
God  did  not  wish  it  to  be  done;  and  therefore  sent  no  man  ule  to 
do  ii  The  prdbafaiUty  (tf  I  mele  my  own  eoptietteB%  I  AoM 


34*  THE  REUQWN  OF  BUOUN 

mj  MTtainty)  th«t  Hi  imiI  ruur  mm,  haa&e^  of  men,  ablo 
to  do  H;  uid  that  we  h*ve  rejected  them,  or  craAed  them;  by  our 
pivHoos  fony  of  conduct  or  of  institution,  we  have  rendered  it 
impoeeible  to  distinguish,  or  inp<Mnbl«  to  iMch  tbmi  and  when 
the  need  for  them  comes,  and  we  suffer  for  the  WMit  « ,«B«n>  »  »• 
not  that  God  refuses  to  send  us  deliverers,  and  espedaUj  appmnti 
all  our  consequent  sufferinra  ;  but  that  He  has  sent,  and  we  hiwa 
refused,  the  deliverers;  and  the  pain  is  then  wrought  out  by  His 
atgmal  law,  as  surely  as  famine  is  wrought  out  by  eternal  law  for 
a  nation  which  wiU  oaither  plough  nor  sow.  ho  less  are  we  m 
error  in  suppoaing,  we  so  frequently  do,  that  if  a  man  be  found, 
he  is  sure  tobeln  aU  respects  fitted  for  the  work  to  be  done,  aa 
the  key  is  to  the  lock:  and  that  every  accident  whidi  bapDOMd  in 
the  forging  him,  only  ad^ted  him  mora  truly  to  tlM  WMttI 

FBOVIDSNCa  AND  OHAT  UtX. 

It  is  pitiful  to  hear  historians  beguiling  themselves  and  their 
readers,  by  tracing  in  the  early  history  of  great  men,  the  minor  cir- 
cumstances  which  fitted  them  for  the  work  they  did,  without  ever 
taking  notice  of  the  other  circumitances  which  as  assuredly  unfitted 
them  for  it;  so  concluding  that  miraculous  interp<»ition  prepared 
them  in  all  points  for  everything  and  that  thev  did  dl  that  coold 
have  been  desired  or  hoped  for  from  than:  whneM  Um  e«taiBty 
of  the  matter  is  that,  throughout  their  lives,  they  were  thwarted 
and  corrupted  by  some  things  as  certainly  as  they  were  helped  and 
ftriplinml  by  others;  and  that,  in  the  kindliest  and  most  reverent 
^MTwhidi  can  justly  be  taken  of  them,  Uiey  were  but  poor  -nia- 
taken  creatures,  struggling  with  a  world  more  profoundly  mi8ta..en 
than  they;  assuredly  sinned  against,  or  sinnmg  in  thousands  of 
wavs  and  bringing  out  at  last  a  maimed  result — not  what  they 
mieh't  or  oueht  to  have  done,  but  all  that  could  be  done  amnst  tho 
world's  resistance,  and  in  spite  of  their  own  aorrowfol  falaafaood  to 
thmnalvea.  -AiamiM. 

PRKVBNTIOX  BETTBR  THAK  CURE. 

184.  Without  going  so  far  as  the  exile  of  the  inconveniently  wick- 
•d  and  transli^n  of  the  inconveniently  sick,  to  their  proper  spirit- 
ual mansions,  we  should  at  least  be  certain  that  we  do  not  waste 
care  in  protracting  disease  whkli  might  have  been  spent  va  pra- 
sMving  health;  that  we  do  not  appease  in  the  splendour  of  OOT 
turreted  hospitals  the  feelings  of  compassion  which,  nghtly  dl- 
rected,  might  have  prcventod  the  need  of  them;  nor  pride  oup- 
selves  on  the  peculiar  form  of  Christian  benevolence  which  leaves 
the  cottage  rooiiees  to  model  the  prison,  and  spends  itself  with 
zealous  prefeTMice  whare,  in  the  keen  woigsof  Cwlyle,  if  you  d^irs 
the  material  on  wWA  maadmum  expentttara  <rf  means  and  effort 
will  produce  ft«  minfaHmn  waoH,  "hm  yoo  wenatdy  ham  A"— 
Addenda. 


n 


UNTO  THIS  LAST. 
Four  Essays.  (1860.) 

These  essays,  embodying  much  of  Ruskin's  early  views  on  Politi- 
cal Eoonomy,  wen  flnt  paUidied  in  the  Comhill  Magasine.  Eig^ 
een  months  later  they  were  issued  in  book  form.  Mr.  Harrison'^ 
opinion  that  this  was  "the  most  serviceable  thing"  that  Buskin  ever 
wrote  is,  perhaps,  not  too  stnmg  a  statement:  not  that  it  is  the 
finest  from  the  points  of  view  of  literature  or  philosophy,  but  as 
an  instrument  of  education,  of  sound  economic  truth,  it  is  the 
moil  pnetkal,  and  wpptth  to  the  oomnon  sense  <rf  all  lovns  of 
truth.   Its  object  is  best  stated  by  Ruskin  himself : 

"It  was  the  first  object  of  ihtao  papers  to  give  an  accurate  and 
stable  defaitiop  of  wealth.  TheiF  seoond  object  wai  to  show  thai 
the  acquiiition  of  wealth  was  finally  possible  only  under  certain 
moral  conditions  of  society,  of  which  quite  the  first  was  a  belief 
in  tibie  eadsteaea  and  fv«n,  for  ptactical  purpoaei,  in  the  attahw* 
hil;t   01'  bones^. 

Witho-;  venturing  to  pronounce — since  on  such  a  matter 
hnman  .u^i^r.  nt  is  by  no  means  conducive— what  is,  or  Is  not, 
the  p  ^ie;..  f  God's  works,  we  may  ycl  admit  so  much  of  Pope's 
assertion  an  ibat  an  honest  man  \h  anio^ig  His  best  works  prea- 
entiy  visible,  and,  as  things  slaii^  eoninj/bai  rare  (me;  but  not  an 
incredible  or  miraculous  work;  si..'.  Ivjs  an  abnormal  one.  Hon- 
esty  is  not  a  disturbing  force,  which  deranges  the  orbits  of  eo(mo> 
my ;  but  a  coD^istant  and  etwimaoding  force,  by  obedience  to  whidh 
—and  by  uu  .^thn  oliediem;;)— 4lMs«i  ozfaili  en  iMHrtiiraa  dear  of 
chaos. 

To  theae  two  points,  tl»n,  the  following  essays  an  mainly  di- 
rected. The  subject  of  the  organization  of  labour  is  only  casually 
touched  upon;  because,  if  we  once  can  get  a  an^Sdant  quantity 
oi  haoMtj  ia  oar  captains,  the  organisatitm  of  labour  is  easy,  and 
wfil  dtMlop  itadf  w^oot  qoanal  or  dttkolty;       it  m  OHft- 

m 


344  THE  RELIGIOIf  OF  RVSKIN. 

not  get  honesty  in  our  captainii,  the  organization  of  labour  is  for 
evermore  impossible." 
The  author  takes  for  Im  motto  to  these  easqn  the  two  Ser^ptoit 

passages: — 

"Friend,  I  do  thee  no  wrong.  Didst  not  thou  agree  voith  me  for  a 
penny/  Take  that  thine  i»,  and  go  thy  way.  I  wM  give  unto  <Ats 
Uut  even  at  unto  thee."—Usii.  20:13. 

"If  ye  think  good,  give  me  my  price;  and  if  not,  forbear.  80  iktff 
weigned  for  my  price  thirty  pieces  of  rilver." — Zech.  11:12. 

The  work  embxaesi  a  yvf  wide  xanfi  of  sabjeets,  tneted  widsr 
the  four  heads: — 

1.  The  Roots  of  Honour.       8.  Qui  Judicatis  Terram. 

2.  The  Veins  of  Wealth.       4.  Ad  Valorem. 

The  following  selections  will  be  of  value,  not  only  for  occasional 
xeferenoe,  but  also  for  bnnging  into  special  notice  the  noble  treat* 
ment  of  certain  great  principles ;  but  no  lover  of  truth,  in  business 
or  public  morals,  should  be  satisfied  until  he  has  read  the  whole 
of  these  masterly  essays  which  are  easfly  available  in  popular  edi^ 
iiooa. 

JVSnCB  AS  A  BASIS  OF  HUMAN  ACTION. 

7.  No  hnman  actions  ever  were  intended  by  the  Maker  of  men  to 
be  guided  by  balances  of  expediency,  but  by  balances  of  justice.  He 
has  therefore  rendered  all  endeavours  to  determine  expediency 
futile  for  evermore.  No  man  ever  knew,  or  can  know,  what  will 
be  the  ultimate  result  to  himself,  or  to  others,  of  any  given  line 
of  conduct.  But  every  man  may  know,  and  most  of  us  do  know, 
what  is  a  just  and  unjust  act.  And  all  of  us  may  know  also,  that 
the  consequences  of  justice  will  be  ultimately  the  best  posrible, 
both  to  others  and  ourselves,  though  we  can  neither  say  what  i» 
best,  nor  how^  it  is  likely  to  come  to  pass.  I  have  said  balances  of 
justice,  meaning,  in  the  term  justice,  to  include  affection, — such 
affection  as  one  man  owes  to  another.  All  right  relations  between 
master  and  operative,  tad  tli  their  bMt  intwests,  nWrnitsiy  dsfmd 
on  these. — Enay  I. 

THS  VUNCnONS  AND  DUTIB  07  PBOFOBIONS. 

21.  Five  great  intellectual  professions,  relating  to  daily  necessities 
of  life,  have  hitherto  existed-  -three  exist  necessarily,  in  every  civi* 
lised  nation :  The  Soldier's  profession  is  to  defend  it.  The  Pastor's,  to 
Uaeh  it  The  Physician's,  to  keep  it  in  health.  The  Lawyw's,  to 
enforce  juttice  in  it.  The  Merchant's,  to  provide  for  it. 

And  the  duty  of  all  these  men  is,  on  due  occasion,  to  dt«  for  it. 
"On  due  occasion,"  namely: — 
The  Soldier,  rather  than  leave  his  post  in  battle. 


SEUQI0U8  LESSONS  IN  POUTICAL  SCONOMY  Mf 

Tha  Physician,  raliier  than  leave  his  post  in  plagM. 

The  Pastor,  rather  than  teach  Falaehood. 

The  Lawyer,  rather  than  countenance  Injustice. 

The  Merchant — What  is  hU  "due  occasion"  of  death? 
It  is  the  main  cuestion  for  the  merchant,  as  for  all  of  ua.  For, 
truly,  the  man  wno  does  not  knoir  whan  to  die,  doea  not  kaaw 
how  to  live. — Euay  I. 

MORAL  QUALITY  OF  WEALTH. 

37.  It  is  impossible  to  conclude,  of  any  given  mass  of  acquired 
wealth,  merely  by  the  fact  of  its  existence,  whether  it  signifies  good  or 
evil  to  the  nation  in  the  midst  of  which  it  exists.  Its  real  value 
depends  on  the  moral  sign  attached  to  it,  just  as  sternly  as  that  of 
a  mathematical  quantity  depends  on  the  alg;ebraical  sign  attached 
to  it.  Any  given  accumulation  of  commercial  wealth  may  be  in- 
dicative, on  the  one  hand,  of  faithful  industries,  progrewive  enet^ 
f^ea,  and  productive  ingenuities ;  or,  on  the  other,  it  may  be  indicar 
tive  of  mortal  luxury,  merciless  tyranny,  ruinous  chicane.  Some 
treasures  are  heavy  with  human  tears,  as  an  ill-stored  harvest  with 
untimely  rain;  and  some  gdd  k  briglitar  in  lonehine  than  it  k 
in  substance. — Euay  II. 

BEAL  WEALTH  AND  SEEMINQ  WEALTH. 

38.  That  which  seems  to  be  wealth  may  in  verity  be  only  the  gilded 
index  of  far-reaching  ruin;  a  wrecker^s  handral  <d  ooiu  gleaned 
fnmi  the  beach  to  which  he  hat  beguiled  an  ugosy;  a  camp-fol- 
lower's bundle  ot  raa  unwrapped  tnm  the  breaito  of  goodly  m4> 
diers  dead ;  the  purcbaae-pieces  of  potto*!  Adds,  idinem  shall  b» 
buried  together  the  citizen  and  the  stranger. 

And  therefore,  the  idea  that  directions  can  be  given  for  the  gain- 
ing of  wealth,  irrespectively  of  the  consideration  of  its  monl 
floureea,  or  that  any  general  and  technical  law  of  purchase  and 
gain  can  be  aet  doim  for  natitmal  practice,  is  perhaps  the  moat 
Insolently  futile  of  all  thM  ever  b^mled  men  through  thrir  vicee. 
So  far  as  I  know,  there  is  not  in  history  record  of  anything  so 
disgraceful  to  the  human  intellect  as  the  modem  idea  that  the 
commercial  text,  "Buy  in  the  cheapest  market  and  sell  in  the 
dearest,"  represents,  or  under  any  circumstances  could  represent, 
an  available  principle  of  national  economy.  Buy  in  the  diei^eit 
market? — yes;  but  what  made  your  market  cheap?  Charcoal  may 
be  cheap  among  your  roof  timbers  after  a  fire,  and  bricks  may  ba 
die^>  in  your  itreeti  after  an  earthqoaka :  bat  &•  and  euthquake 
nay  not  thenfore  be  national  braeflta.  Bdl  in  the  deanat?— yea, 
truly;  but  what  made  your  market  dear?  You  sold  your  bread 
well  to-day;  was  it  to  a  dying  man  who  gave  his  last  coin  for  it, 
md  win  B«m  need  braw  mow:  or  to  «  ndi  mtm  iHm  tOBMBWir 


34«  TEE  REUaiON  OF  BVSKIN 

will  buy  your  farm  over  your  head;  or  to  a  soldier  on  hit  waj  to 
pillage  the  bank  in  which  you  have  put  your  fortune? 

Every  question  concerning  these  things  merges  itself  ultimately 
in  the  great  question  of  justice,  which,  the  ground  being  thus  far 
cleared  for  it,  I  will  enter  upon  in  the  next  paper,  leaving  only, 
in  thill,  thne  final  pointa  for  tba  zaadsr't  oonndmtkni.— £Miy  U» 

VALvm  or  Moray  oomim  nr  m  rown. 

39.  It  has  been  shown  that  the  chief  value  and  virtue  of  money 
consists  in  its  having  power  over  human  beings ;  that,  without  this 
power,  large  material  possessions  are  useless,  and  to  any  person 
possessing  such  power,  comparatively  unnecessary.  But  power  over 
human  beings  is  attainable  by  other  means  than  by  money.  As 
I  said  a  few  pages  back,  the  monsy  poww  is  always  imperfect  and 
doubtful;  thm  are  many  things  wHch  cannot  be  retuned  by  it. 
Many  joys  may  be  given  to  men  which  cannot  be  bought  for  gold, 
and  many  fiddities  lound  in  them  which  cannot  be  rewarded  with 
it. 

HUMAN  SOULS  AS  BUSINESS  ASSETS. 

40.  41.  Since  the  essence  of  wealth  consists  in  power  over  men,  will 
it  not  follow  that  the  nobler  and  the  more  in  number  th»  peiaoaa  wn 
over  whom  it  has  power,  the  greater  the  wealth? 


It  may  be  discovered  that  the  true  veins  of  wealth  are  purple— 
and  not  in  Rock,  but  in  Flesh — perhaps  even  that  the  frndf  out- 
come and  consummation  of  all  wealth  is  in  the  producing  as  many 
as  possible  full-breathed,  bright-eyed,  and  happy-hearted  human 
creatures.  Our  modern  wealth,  I  think,  has  rather  «  tendency 
the  other  way; — most  political  economists  appearing  to  coniider 
multitudes  of  human  creatures  not  conducive  to  wealth,  or  at  beat 
conducive  to  it  only  by  remaining  in  a  dim-qr«d  and  nanqw 
chested  state  of  being. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  open,  I  repeat,  to  serious  question,  which  I 
leave  to  the  reader's  pondering,  whether,  among  national  manu- 
factures, that  of  Souls  of  a  gpod  quality  may  not  at  last  turn  out 
a  quite  leadingly  lucrative  one?  Nay,  in  some  far-away  and  yet 
undreamt-of  hour,  I  can  even  imagine  that  England  may  east  all 
thoughts  of  possessive  wealth  beck  to  the  baibaric  nations  among 
wjKmi  they  first  arose;  and  that,  while  tiie  ssmb  of  tbo  Indus  and 
adamant  of  Golconda  may  yet  stiffen  the  housings  of  the  charger, 
and  flash  from  the  turban  of  the  slave,  she,  as  a  Christian  mother, 
rmy  at  last  attain  to  the  virtues  and  the  treasures  of  a  HeaMMB  ope, 
and  be  able  to  lead  forth  her  Sons,  saying, — 

"Thase  ave  mr  Jewab." 

-JbayXI. 


MEUfflOVa  LESBONS  m  FOimOAL  MOONOXr  S4» 

UAxou  «r  ▲  wn  mav. 

42.  Some  centuries  before  the  Christian  era,  a  Jew  merchant 
engaged  in  business  on  the  Gold  Coast,  and  reported  to  have  made 
one  of  the  largest  fortunes  of  his  time  (held  also  in  repute  for 
much  practit'al  sagacity),  left  among  his  ledgers  some  general 
aMudnw  conc&ining  wwlth,  which  have  been  preserved,  strangdy 
enough,  even  to  oar  own  dayi.  They  were  held  in  considerable  re- 
spect py  the  most  active  tradne  <rf  the  middle  ages,  especially  by  the 
Venetians,  who  even  went  so  far  in  their  admiration  as  to  place 
a  statue  of  the  old  Jew  on  the  angle  of  one  of  their  principal 
public  buildings.  Of  late  years  these  writings  have  fallen  into 
disrepute,  being  opposed  in  everv  particular  to  the  spirit  of  modem 
commerce.  Nevertheless  I  shall  reproduce  a  passage  or  two  from 
them  here,  partly  because  they  may  interest  the  reader  by  their 
novelty;  and  chieflv  because  they  will  show  him  that  it  fa  possible 
for  a  voy  practical  and  acquisitive  tradesman  to  hold,  through  a 
not  unsuccessful  career,  that  principle  of  distinction  between  well- 
gotten  and  ill-gotten  wealth,  which,  partially  insisted  on  in  my  last 
^Nff,  ityntist  be  our  work  more  completely  to  examine  in  this. — 

HONESTY  nr  ADVEBTISINQ. 

43.  He  says,  for  instance,  in  (me  place:  "The  getting  of  treasure  by 
a  lying  tonsrue  is  a  vanity  tossed  to  and  fro  of  them  that  seek 
death;'  adoine  in  another,  with  the  same  meaning  (he  had  a 
curious  way  of  doubling  his  sayings):  "Treasures  of  wickedness 
profit  nothing;  but  justice  delivers  from  death."*  Both  these  pas- 
sages are  notable  for  their  assertion  of  death  as  the  only  real  ivue 
and  sum  of  attainment  by  any  unjust  scheme  of  wealth.  If  wt 
lead,  instead  of  "lyins  tongue,"  "lying  label,  title,  pretence,  or 
advertisement,'*  w«  dutu  more  clearly  perceive  the  beuing  of  the 
words  on  modem  businem.  The  seeking  of  death  is  a  grand  ex- 
preosion  of  the  trae  course  of  men's  toil  in  such  business.  We 
usually  speak  as  if  death  pursued  ua,  and  we  fled  from  him;  but 
that  is  only  so  in  rare  inatances.  Ordinarily,  he  masbi  himself — 
nudces  himwif  beautiful— all-glorioM;  not  like  the  King's  daugh- 
Iwr,  all^flffams  within,  tat  oatwwdty:  his  clothing  of  wrought 
fBll.  WajMHWM  Mm  /fHiKierily  idl  om  ho  flyinf  or  hiding 
from  us.  Our  crowning  etf^AMU  C  ^Mmm*  ui4  ten  is  utterly  and 
perfectly  to  seiie,  and  hold        jfi       Msraal  integrity— roiies, 

wdmt  M"  liii  iitiMy  til. 

mttf»  tvtrncw  Aim  IBM  tatm. 
#.  Ajria;  fee  iniii»iiit  says,  "Bm  tlat  nff  jimji  fte  poor  to  ln» 


S4l  THE  BSUGION  OF  BUSKIN. 

mtm  his  riches,  shall  sorely  come  to  want'"  And  again,  more 
strmu^y:  "Bob  not  the  poor  because  he  is  poor;  neither  oppress 
the  afflicted  in  the  place  of  business.  For  G<xi  shall  spoil  the  soul 
of  those  that  spoiled  them.'" 

This  "robbing  the  poor  because  he  is  poor,"  is  especially  the 
mercantile  form  of  theft,  consistine  in  taJdng  adTantage  of  a  man's 
necessities  in  order  to  obtain  his  labour  or  im>[?erty  at  a  reduced 
price.  The  ordinary  highwayman's  opposite  form  of  robbery — of 
the  rich,  because  he  is  rich— does  not  appear  lo  occur  so  often  to 
the  old  merchant's  mind;  probably  because,  being  less  profitable 
and  more  dangerous  than  the  robbcory  of  ii»  poor,  it  k  nxdy  piao* 
ticed  by  persons  of  discretion. 

44.  But  the  two  most  remarkable  passages  in  their  deq>  genenl  sig* 
nificance  are  the  following: — 

"The  rich  and  the  poor  have  met.  God  is  their  maker.'" 

"The  rich  and  the  poor  have  met.   God  is  their  light." 

They  "have  met;"  more  literally,  have  stood  in  each  other's  way 
{(^viaverunt) .  That  is  to  say,  as  long  as  the  world  lasts,  the  action 
and  counteraction  of  wealth  and  poverty,  the  meeting,  face  to  face, 
of  rich  and  poor,  is  just  as  appomted  and  necessary  a  law  of  that 
world  as  the  flow  of  stream  to  sea,  or  the  interchange  of  power 
among  the  electric  clouds:— "God  is  their  maker."  But,  also,  this 
action  may  be  either  sentle  and  just,  or  convulsive  and  destructive: 
it  may  be  by  rage  of  devouring  flood,  or  by  lapse  of  serviceable 
wave; — in  blackness  of  thunderstroke,  or  continual  force  of  vital 
fire,  soft,  and  shapeable  into  love-syllable  from  far  away.  And 
which  of  these  it  snail  be  depends  on  both  rich  and  poor  knowing 
that  God  is  their  light ;  that  in  the  mystery  of  human  life,  tbn* 
is  no  other  light  than  this  by  which  they  can  see  each  other's  faoss, 
and  live ; — light,  which  is  called  in  another  of  the  books  among 
which  the  merchant's  maxims  have  been  preserved,  the  "sun  of 
justice,"  of  which  it  is  promised  that  it  shall  rise  at  last  with  "heal- 
ing^'  (health-giving  or  helping,  making  whole  or  setting  at  one) 
in  Its  wings.  For  truly  this  healing  is  only  possible  by  means  of 
justice;  no  love,  no  faith,  no  hone  will  do  it;  men  will  be  unwisely 
fond— vainlv  faithful,  unless  primarily  they  are  jost;  and  the  mis- 
Wee  of  the  best  men  through  generation  after  generation,  has  been 
that  mat  one  of  thmkmg  to  help  the  poor  by  almsgiving,  and  by 

{treadling  of  patience  or  of  hope,  and  by  every  other  means,  emol- 
lent  or  consolatory,  except  the  one  thing  which  God  orders  for 
theni,  justice.  But  this  justice,  with  its  accompan3ring  holiness  or 
helpfulness,  being  even  by  the  best  men  denied  in  its  trial  time, 
is  by  the  mass  of  men  hated  wherever  it  appears:  so  that,  when 
«ie  choice  was  one  day  fairly  put  to  them,  they  denied  the  Help- 
ful One  and  th«  Jot;  and  desbed  a  mudenr,  ssditfam^aiser,  ai& 

*Pmv.  St:  Mw    *Pm.  St:  St  •Vnf.  ft:  1 


RELIGIOUS  LSaaONB  IN  POUTWAL  EOONOMT  m 

robber,  to  be  granted  to  them^— the  mardenr  instead  oi  the 

of  Life,  the  seditioa-raiser  instead  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and  tM 

robber  instead  of  the  just  Judge  of  all  the  world.— ^May  ///. 

LIFB,  THE  ONI.T  WKALTH. 

77.  There  is  no  Wealth  but  Life.  Life,  including  ail  its  powers  of 
kve,  of  joy,  and  of  admiration.  That  a>untry  is  the  richest  which 
nourishes  the  neatest  number  of  noble  and  happy  human  beingi; 
that  man  is  ripest  lAm,  having  perfected  the  functions  of  his  own 
life  to  the  utmost,  has  also  the  widest  helpful  influenoe,  b^ptr* 
eonal,  and  by  means  of  his  possessions,  over  the  lives  of  others. 

A  strange  political  economy;  the  only  one,  nevertheless,  that 
ever  was  or  can  be:  all  political  economy  founded  on  self-interest 
being  but  the  fulfillment  of  that  which  once  brought  schiam  into 
the  Policy  of  angels,  and  ruin  into  the  Economy  of  Heaven. 

78.  "The  greatert  number  of  human  beings  noble  and  happy."  But 
is  the  nobleness  consistent  with  the  number?  Yes,  not  only  con- 
sistent with  it,  but  essential  to  it.  The  maximmn  of  life  can  onW 
be  reached  by  the  maximum  of  virtue.  In  this  respect  the  l^ww 
human  population  diflfers  wholly  from  that  of  animal  life.  Tho 
multiplication  of  animals  is  checked  only  by  want  of  food,  and 
by  the  hostility  of  races;  the  population  of  the  gnat  is  restrained 
by  the  hunger  of  the  swallow,  and  that  of  the  swallow  by  the 
scarcity  of  gmUs.  Man,  considered  as  an  animal,  is  indeed  limited 
by  the  same  laws;  hunger,  or  plague,  or  war,  are  the  necesrary  and 
only  restraints  upon  his  increase,— factual  restraints  hitherto,— 
his  principal  study  having  been  how  most  swiftly  to  destroy  him- 
self, or  ravage  his  dwelling-places,  and  his  highest  skill  directed  to 
give  range  to  the  famine,  seed  to  the  plague,  and  sway  to  the 
sword.  But,  considered  as  other  than  an  animal,  his  increase  is 
not  limited  bv  these  laws.  It  is  limited  only  by  the  limits  of  his 
coorage  and  in  love.  Both  of  these  have  their  bounds;  and  ought 
to  have:  his  race  has  its  bounds  also;  but  these  have  not  yet  been 
reached,  nor  will  be  reached  for  ages.— ffmi/  IV. 

TBM  POOB  NEED  MOEB  THAK  MB/  r. 

79.  T!»  life  is  man  than  the  meat.  The  rich  *.ot  only  refuse  food 
to  the  poor;  they  refuse  wisdom;  they  rafoaa  virtue;  they  mfusa 
salvation.  Ye  sheep  without  shepherd,  it  is  not  the  pasture  ttu 
has  been  shut  from  you,  but  the  presence.  Meatl  perhaps  your 
right  to  that  may  be  pleadable;  but  other  rights  have  to  bi  pleaded 
first.  Claim  your  crumbs  from  the  table,  if  you  will;  but  claim 
th«n  as  children,  not  as  dogs;  claim  your  right  to  be  fed,  but  claim 
more  loudly  your  right  to  be  holy,_  perfect,  and  mire. 

Strange  words  to  be  used  of  working  people:  "What!  holy;  with- 
<mt  any  long  robes  nor  anointing  oils;  these  rough  jacketed,  maffti' 


3SO  THE  RBLIOION  OF  RUSKIN 

worded  pei-sons;  set  to  namelen  and  dishonoured  service?  Perfect  I 
—these,  with  dim  eyes  and  cramped  limbs,  and  slowly  awaken- 
ing minds?  Pure — these,  with  sensual  desire  and  grorelling 
thought;  foul  of  body,  ana  ombm  of  soul?"  It  may  be  so;  never* 
theless,  such  aa  thqr  an,  they  ate  the  holiest,  perfectest,  pureit 
pofMms  the  earth  can  at  present  show.  They  may  be  what  you 
miTe  said;  but  if  so,  they  vet  are  holier  than  we,  who  have  left 
them  thus.  But  what  can  be  done  for  them?  Who  can  cloth»— 
who  teach — who  restrain  their  multitudes?  What  end  can  thaw 
be  for  them  at  last,  but  to  consume  one  another?— £«iay  IV. 

THB  8BARCH  FOB  FOOD,  AND  801CBTHIN0  BETTEB. 

82.  The  presence  of  a  wise  population  implies  the  search  for  felicity 
as  well  as  for  food;  nor  can  any  population  reach  its  mwrin^Tn 
but  through  that  wisdom  which  "rejoices"  in  tiM  hii<>itable  porta 
of  the  earth.  The  desert  has  its  appointed  place  and  work:  the 
eternal  engine,  whose  beam  is  the  earth's  axle,  whose  beat  is  its 
year,  and  whose  breath  is  its  ocean,  will  still  divide  imperiously  to 
their  desert  kingdoms,  bound  with  unfurrowable  rock,  and  swept 
by  unarrested  sand,  their  powers  of  frost  and  fhre:  but  the  lonee 
and  lands  between,  habitable,  will  be  loveliest  in  habitation.  Tbe 
desire  of  the  heart  is  also  the  light  of  the  eyes.  No  scene  is  con- 
tinually and  untirinely  loved,  but  one  rich  by  joyful  human 
boor;  smooth  in  field,  fair  in  garden;  full  in  orchud;  trim,  sweet, 
and  ftreciaent  in  homestead ;  rin^ng  with  voices  of  vivid  existence. 
No  air  is  sweet  that  is  silent ;  it  is  only  sweet  when  full  of  low  cur- 
rents of  under  sound — triplets  of  birds,  and  murmur  and  chirp  of 
insects,  and  deep-toned  words  of  men,  and  wayward  trebles  of  child- 
hood. As  the  art  of  life  is  learned,  it  will  hb  found  at  last  that  all 
lovely  things  are  also  necessary :— the  wild  flower  by  the  wayside, 
as  well  as  the  tended  com ;  and  the  wild  birds  and  creatures  of  the 
forest,  as  well  as  the  tended  cattle;  becatae  man  doth  not  live  by 
bread  only,  but  also  by  the  desert  manna ;  by  every  wondrous  word 
and  unknowable  work  of  God.  Happy,  in  that  he  knew  them  not, 
nor  did  his  fathers  know;  and  that  round  about  him  reachea  yet 
into  the  infinite,  the  amasement  of  his  existence. — E$$oj/  IV. 

PROVIDENCE  AND  CONTENTMENT. 

83.  We  continually  hear  it  recommended  by  sagacious  people  to 
complaining  neighbours  (usually  less  well  placed  in  the  world  than 
themselves)  J  that  they  should  "remain  content  in  the  station  in 
which  Providence  has  placed  them."  There  are  perhaps  some  cii«» 
cumstances  of  life  in  which  Providence  has  no  intenticm  that  peo* 
pie  BhovM,  be  content  Nevertheleas,  the  maxim  k  on  the  whole 
agood  one ;  but  it  is  peculiarly  for  home  use.  That  your  neighbour 
ahould,  or  ehonid  not,  remain  content  with  hit  position,  is  not 


RELIGIOUS  LESaONS  IN  POUTICAL  ECONOMY  35> 


jmu  hammm;  bat  ii  it-VHf^flHMk  jma  bonneM  to  ramain  eon- 
test  with  ymr  own.  11%  BMd  enunptwi  of  people  who,  leavipg 
Heaven  to  decide  whether  thev  are  to  rise  in  the  world,  decide 
for  themaeWes  that  they  will  be  happy  in  it,  and  have  resolved 
to  seek — not  greater  wealth,  but  simpler  pleasure;  not  higher  for* 
lUM,  but  deeper  felicity:  making  tha  fint  of  poswioni,  a^-pa** 
and  honoaring  thmiiwi—  iiMh»  f 


Ill 


MUNEBA  PULVEBIS. 
Six  Emati  oir  Poutioui  Ecoxokt.  (1861*72.) 

1.  Definitions.  4.  Conuneroe. 

2.  Store-keeping.  6.  Government. 
8.  Ooin^Mping.                         6.  Ifulendi^. 

Mr.  Raskin  claimed  that  these  essays  constituted  "the  first  ac- 
curate analysis  of  the  laws  of  Political  Economy  published  in  Eng- 
land. No  exhaustive  examination  of  the  subject,"  he  says,  "was 
possible  to  any  person  onacqoainted  with  the  value  of  the  products 
of  the  higher  industries,  commonly  called  the  'Fine  Arts,'  and  no 
one  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  those  industries  has  attempted, 
or  even  approached  the  task." 

Nevertheless  the  essays  were  received  with  outbursts  of  criticism 
and  ridicule  when  first  published  in  the  Comhill  and  Frasefa  Maga- 
sines  and  it  was  not  until  ten  years  later,  January,  1872,  thit  tbey 
were  published  in  book  form,  under  the  present  title. 

But  there  were  men  who  saw  from  the  first,  the  true  genius  and 
|no|^Mtieal  forecasting  of  these  "heretical  doctrines"  of  Political 
Economy.  Carlyle  wrote  to  Ruskin  in  1862: — "I  have  read  your 
first,  T  approved  in  every  particular,  calm,  definite,  clear,  rising  into 
the  sphere  of  Plato.  ...  In  every  part  I  find  a  high  cmd  noU* 
sort  of  truth,  not  one  doctrine  that  I  can  intrinsically  dissent  from, 
or  count  other  than  salutary  in  the  extreme,  and  pressingly 
needed."'  Mr.  Froude,  the  historian  and  Editor  of  Fnuer,  wrote: 
"The  world  talks  of  the  article  in  its  usual  way.  I  was  at  Carlyle's 
last  night.  ...  He  said  that  in  writing  to  your  father  as  to 
the  subject,  he  had  told  him  that  when  Solomon's  temple  was 
building  it  was  credibly  reported  that  at  least  10,000  sparrows, 
sitting  on  the  trees  around,  declared  that  it  was  wrong — quite  con- 
trary to  received  opinion-^hopelessly  condemned  hf  piddie  opin- 
ion, etc.  Nevertheless  it  got  finished  and  the  sparrows  flew  awty 
and  began  to  chirp  in  the  same  note  about  something  else." 

1  Sm  OolliviNo<^  Lift «(  Bwkia. 

35* 


REUQ10V8  LESSONS  IN  POUTICAL  ECONOMY  353 


In  a  more  seriooB  vein  wsi  a  letter  written  to  Carlylo  on  the  sub* 
ject  by  Eiakine.*  "I  am  thankful  for  any  unveiling  of  the  w^led 
■daiM*  of  FdHkal  Beonomy,  jMeoiding  to  whidi,  avowed  mUUi- 
nesB  is  the  rule  of  the  world.  It  is  indeed  most  important  preach* 
ing — ^to  preach  that  there  is  not  one  God  for  religion  and  another 
God  for  hnnMn  fdlowiUp— and  anoUm  God  for  baying  and  selling 
— that  pestilent  polytheism  has  been  largely  and  confidently  preached 
in  oar  time,  and  blessed  are  those  who  can  detect  its  mendacities, 
•nd  help  to  dismdmt  the  bfothrcn  fd  tbair  powor." 

In  this  volume  we  have  Ruskin's  definitions,  in  language  adapted 
to  the  popular  mind,  of  such  terms  as  "wealth,  value,  commerce, 
oost,  price,  money,  work,  ownership,  darery,"  etc  Replying  to 
Jdm  Ettoart  Mills's  statement  that  "everyone  has  a  notion  sufii- 
ekntly  eorrect  for  common  purposes,  of  what  is  meant  by  wealth," 
1m  says:— "There  is  not  oat  pmoa  in  ten  thouand  mbo  has  a 
notion  sufficiently  correct,  even  for  the  commonest  purposes,  of 
what  is  meant  by  wealth,  still  less  of  what  wealth  everlastin^y  it, 
whethor  we  mean  it  or  not" 

Mr.  Hobson,  in  his  able  nview  d  the  social  and  economical  as- 
pects of  Buskin's  work  qMaka  <tf  this  as  "the  most  systematic  of 
hii  bo(^."*  The  Author  himsdf  regarded  it  as  a  fitting  woric  to  in- 
leribe,  "to  the  friend  and  goida  idw  h«  uxged  mo  to  all  diiaf 

labor,  THOMAS  CABLYUB." 

HABMONY  09  BODY  AND  SOUL. 

6.  No  physical  error  can  be  more  profound,  no  moral  error  mofo 
dan^rous,  tnan  that  involved  in  the  monkish  doctrine  of  the  o{h 
position  of  body  and  soul.  No  soul  can  be  perfect  in  an  imperfect 
body:  no  body  perfect  without  perfect  soul.  Every  right  action  and 
true  thou^t  sets  the  seal  of  its  beauty  on  person  and  face;  every 
wrong  action  and  foul  thought  its  seal  of  distortion ;  and  the  various 
aspects  of  humanity  might  be  read  as  plainly  as  printed  history, 
were  it  not  that  the  impressions  are  so  complex  tnat  it  must  u* 
ways,  in  some  cases  (ana  in  the  preseSl  rtate  of  our  knowledge,  in 
all  cases)  be  impossible  to  decipher  them  completely.  Nevertheless, 
the  face  of  a  consistently  unjust  person,  may  always  be  rightly  dis* 
tinguished  at  a  glance;  and  if  the  qualities  are  continued  by  descent 
through  a  generation  or  two,  there  tirises  a  complete  distinction  of 
the  race.  .  .  .  There  is  as  yet  no  a.<!certained  limit  to  the  noble- 
ness of  person  and  mind  which  the  human  creature  may  attain, 

*8m  (MliBcwood.     *Joba  Boddn,  Sodal  BefonMr. 


S54  THE  RSUOION  OF  BVSKUt 

by  persevering  obaervaiMt  of  tht  Imm  «|  God  iMpiiilIim  te  Mift 

•nd  training  — C^.  1.  " 

BY  THB  GOOD  W«  UVE:  BY  TH«  BAD  Wl  DM. 

9.  Neither  with  respect  to  things  uieful  or  useless  can  man'a 
estimate  of  then  alter  their  nature.  Certain  substances  being  good 
for  his  food  and  others  noxious  to  him,  what  he  thinks  or  wttbM 
respecting  them  can  neither  change,  nor  prevent,  their  powor.  It 
he  eats  corn,  he  wiU  Uve,  if  nkhtihade,  he  will  die.   If  he  pro- 

iduce  or  make  good  and  beautifa  things,  they  will  re-ertat*  him; 
note  the  solemnity  and  weight  of  the  word) :  if  bad  and  u«ly 
lings,  they  will  "corrupt"  or  "break  in  pieces"— that  is,  in  ttio 
exact  degree  of  their  power,  kill  him.  For  every  hour  of  labor,  how- 
ever enthusiastic  or  well  intended,  which  he  spends  for  that  which 
19  not  bread,  so  much  possibility  of  life  is  lost  to  him.  .  .  .  Natun 
a?ks  of  him,  calmly  and  inevitably.  What  have  you  found,  or 
formed— the  right  thing  or  the  wrong?  By  the  right  thing  yoa 
•ludl  Ut«;  by  Um  mong  jwa  AtSL  ^£-^k.  J.  *  ^ 


104,  That  proverb  is  wholly  inapplirnble  to  matters  of  private 
interMt.  It  is  not  true  that  honesty,  as  far  as  material  gain  u  ooii> 
cerned,  profits  individuals.  A  clever  and  cruel  knava  will  in  ft 
mixed  society  always  be  richer  than  an  honest  person  can  be.  But 
Honesty  is  the  best  "policy,"  if  policy  mean  practice  of  State.  For 
nothing  m  a  State.  It  only  enables  the  knaves  in  it 
to  live  at  the  expense  of  honest  people;  while  there  is  for  every  act 
of  fraud,  however  small,  a  loss  of  wealth  to  the  community.  What- 
ever the  fiaudulent  person  gains,  some  other  person  loses,  as  fraud 
produces  nothing,  and  there  is  betidet,  the  loss  of  time  and  thought 
spent  in  aocomplishinfl:  the  fraud,  and  of  the  strength  otherwise 
obtainable  by  mutual  help.  .  .  .  Praetieally,  when  the  nation  is 
deeply  corrupt,  cheat  answers  to  cheat:  everyone  is  in  turn  imposed 
upon,  and  there  is  to  the  body  politic  the  dead  loss  of  the  ingenuity, 
together  with  the  incalculable  mischief  of  the  injury  to  each  de- 
frauded person  producing  collateral  eflfect  unexpectedly.  My  neigh- 
bour sells  me  bad  meat.  I  sell  him  in  return  flawed  iron.  Wo 
neither  of  us  pet  one  atom  of  pecuniary  advantage  on  tiie  whdo 
transaction,  but  we  both  suffer  unexpected  inconvenience;  my  men 
get  acnrvy,  and  his  cattle-truck  nina  oS  the  nuls.— CJWqi.  4. 

Christ's  method  the  best  pgr  the  nation. 
108.  The  high  ethical  training  of  a  nation  implies  perfect  Grace, 
FitifoInesSj  and  Peace;  it  is  irreconcilably  inconsistent  with  filthy 
or  meehanical  aDployment8,~with  the  deeire  of  money,— and  with 


RELIQI0U8  LESSONS  IN  POUTJCAL  ECONOMY  iiS 

mental  states  of  onxietv,  jealousy,  or  indifference  to  pain.  The 
present  insensibility  of  the  upper  clo-sscs  of  Europe  to  the  surround- 
ing aapecta  of  sufferinB,  unclcanness,  and  crime,  binds  them  not 
oulv  into  one  responsibility  with  the  sin.  but  into  one  dishonor 
with  the  foulness,  which  rot  at  their  thresholds.  .  .  Similariy, 
the  filth  and  poverty  permitted  or  isnorcd  in  the  midst  of  us  are 
OS  dishonourable  to  the  whole  social  oody,  as  in  the  body  natural 
it  is  to  wash  the  face,  but  leave  the  handi  and  feet  fouL  Christ's 
way  is  the  only  true  one,  begin  at  the  ImI;  the  laee  will  take  can 
of  itnU.— CiMp.  5. 


IV 


TTMB  AND  TIDE. 
TWBNTT-TIVB  LbtTKBS  AND  TsN  ApFsmncBB.  (1869.) 

Time  and  Tide  consists  of  letters  written  to  a  working  cork- 
cutter  in  England  who  corresponded  with  Mr.  Ruskin.  The  coun- 
try was,  at  that  time,  agitated  with  questions  of  reform,  including 
a  demand  for  an  extension  of  the  political  franchise,  which  was 
then  so  restricted  that  only  owners  of  property,  or  large  taz-payen 
could  vote. 

Ruskin  contributed  much  to  the  discussion,  urging  the  impor> 
tance  of  moral  honesty,  in  all  things,  as  greater  and  of  more  value 
than  political  privilege  or  rights.  In  these  letters  also  he  advocated 
many  changes  peculiarly  his  own,  notably,  state  regulation  of  mar> 
riage,  labor  by  captains,  etc;  and  in  doing  so  he  has  given  ezpres* 
sion  to  suggestions  of  reform  which  aie  of  intense  interest, — though 
not  all  of  them  of  practical  application.    (See  Life,  Chap.  4.) 

The  letters  are  written  in  that  free,  frank  style  peculiar  to  Ru8> 
kin  and  are  full  of  wise  words,— illustrated  from  real  ezperimce 
as  reflected  in  the  life  of  people;  and  make  frequent  use  <tf  Scrip- 
ture  texts  which  are  quoted  as  of  final  authority. 

The  book  was  publi^ed  Decembw  19, 1869.  The  public  demand 
for  it  was  immediate,  a  month  later  a  second  edition  was  issued. 

The  selections  which  follow  here  are  in  harmony  with  the  pur- 
pose <rf  our  study,  but  they  axe  not  offered  as  a  ■^fl^Hmt  nUm  at 
the  mml  value  of  Time  tmd  Tid$. 

mam's  HKUTACni. 

21.  There  are  three  things  to  which  man  is  bom — labour,  and  sor- 
row, and  joy.  Each  of  these  three  things  has  its  baseness  and  its 
nobleness.  There  is  base  labour,  and  noole  la^ur.  There  is  base 
sorrow,  and  noble  sorrow.  There  is  base  joy,  and  noble  joy.  But 
you  must  not  think  to  avoid  the  corruption  of  these  ^ings  by  doing 
without  the  things  themselves.  Nor  can  any  life  be  right  that 
has  not  all  three.   Labour  without  joy  is  base.   Labour  without 


RELiaiOUS  LESSONS  IN  POUTWAL  ECONOMY  357 

sorrow  is  base.  Sorrow  without  labour  ii  bne.  Saj  wUhoot  lap 
hour  is  base. — Letter  V. 

HONESTY  TBB  BASIS  OF  BBLIOION  AND  POLICY. 

83.  Toot  honesty  is  not  to  be  based  either  on  religion  or  policy. 
Both  your  religion  and  policy  must  be  based  on  it.  Your  honesty 
must  be  based,  as  the  sun  is,  in  vacant  heaven;  poised,  as  the  lights 
in  the  firmament,  which  have  rule  over  the  day  and  over  the  night. 
If  you  ask  why  you  are  to  be  honest — you  are,  in  the  question  it- 
seli,  dishonoured.  "Because  you  are  a  man,"  is  the  only  answer; 
and  therefore  I  said  in  a  former  letter  that  to  make  our  children 
capable  of  honetty  is  the  beginning  of  education.  Make  them  men 
fint,  and  religious  men  afterwards,  and  all  will  be  sound;  but  a 
knave's  religion  is  always  the  rottenest  thing  about  him.— Xre^ 
f«r  VllL 

FOUB  THEOBUCS  ABOUT  THE  AUTHORITY  OF  THE  BIBLE. 

35-38.  All  the  theories  possible  to  theological  disputants  respecting 
fhe  Bible  are  resolvable  into  four,  and  four  only. 

1.  The  fvst  is  that  of  the  comparatively  illiterate  modem  ie> 
ligious  world,  namely,  that  every  word  of  the  boc^  known  to  them 
as  "The  Bible,"  was  dictated  by  the  Supreme  Being,  and  is  in  every 
syllable  of  it  His  "Word."  This  theory  is  of  course  tenable,  thougn 
honestly,  yet  by  no  ordinarily  well-educated  person. 

2.  The  second  theory  is,  that  although  admitting  verbal  error, 
the  substance  of  the  whole  collection  of  books  callra  the  Bible  is 
absolutely  true,  and  furnished  to  man  by  Divine  inqiiration  of  the 
speakers  and  writers  of  it;  and  that  evory  ^e  who  honestly  and 
prayerfully  seeks  for  such  truth  in  it  ai  is  neoassaiy  Use  sahrap 
tion,  will  infallibly  find  it  there. 

This  theory  is  that  held  by  most  of  our  good  and  upright  dafgy- 
men,  and  the  better  class  of  the  professedly  religious  laity. 

3.  The  ^ird  theory  is  that  the  group  of  books  which  we  call 
the  Bible  were  neither  written  nor  collected  under  any  Divine 
guidance,  securing  them  from  substantial  error;  and  that  they  con- 
tain, like  all  other  human  writing,  false  statements  mixed  with 
true,  and  erring  thoughts  mixed  with  just  thoughts;  but  that  they 
nevertheless  relate,  on  the  whole,  faithfully,  the  dealing  of  the 
one  God  with  the  first  races  of  man,  and  His  dealings  with  them 
in  aftertime  through  Christ;  that  they  record  true  miracles,  and 
bear  true  witness  to  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  and  the  life  of 
the  world  to  come. 

This  is  a  theory  held  by  BMuay  tha  active  leados  of  modem 
thought  in  England. 

4.  The  fourth,  and  last  possible  theory  is  that  the  mass  of  re- 
ligious Scripture  contains  merely  the  best  efforts  which  we  hither^ 
to  know  to  Wb  be«a  ma^  by  any  tA  the  xaoes  of  man  towaida 


3S8 


THE  RELIOION  OF  BUSKIN 


the  discovery  of  some  relations  with  the  spiritual  world;  that  they 
are  only  trustworthy  as  expressions  of  the  enthusiastic  visions  or 
beliefs  of  earnest  men  oppressed  by  the  world's  darkness,  and  have 
no  more  authoritative  claim  on  our  faith  than  the  religious  specu- 
lations and  histories  of  the  Egjrptians,  Greeks,  Persians,  ana  In- 
diaiis;  but  are,  in  common  with  all  these,  to  be  reverently  studied, 
as  containing  the  best  wisdom  which  human  intellect,  earnestly 
seeking  for  help  from  great  Egyptian,  Greek,  and  Indian,  enjoins 
these  also.  You  know  besides,  that  through  all  the  mysteries  of 
human  fate  and  history,  this  one  great  law  of  fate  is  written  on 
the  walls  of  cities,  or  in  their  dust, — written  in  letters  of  light  or 
in  letters  of  blood, — ^that  where  tn'th,  temperance,  and  equity  have 
been  preserved,  all  strength,  and  peace,  and  joy  have  been  pre- 
served also ; — that  where  lying,  lasciviousness,  and  covetousness  have 
been  practised,  there  has  followed  an  infallible,  and  for  centuries 
irrecoverable,  ruin.  And  you  know,  lastly,  that  the  observance  of 
this  common  law  of  righteousness,  commending  itself  to  all  the 
pure  in'r^incts  of  men,  and  fruitful  in  their  temporal  good,  is  by 
the  religious  writers  of  every  nation,  and  chiefly  in  this  venerated 
Scripture  of  ours,  connected  with  some  distinct  nape  of  better  life, 
and  righteousness,  to  come. 

"Let  it  not  then  offend  you  if,  deducing  principles  of  action  first 
from  the  laws  and  facts  of  nature,  I  nevertheless  fortify  them  also 
by  appliance  of  the  precepts,  or  suggestive  and  probable  teachings 
of  this  Book,  of  which  the  authority  js  over  many  around  you, 
more  distinctly  than  over  you,  and  which  confessing  to  be  divine, 
at  least,  can  only  disobey  at  their  moral  peril —Letter  VIII. 

DISROirEST  TSADIKO. 

77.  No  religion  that  ever  was  preached  on  this  earth  of  God's  round- 
ing, ever  proclaimed  any  salvation  to  sellers  of  bad  goods.  If  the 
Ghost  that  is  in  you,  whatever  the  essence  of  it,  leaves  yoor  hand 
a  juggler's  and  your  heart  a  cheat's,  it  is  not  a  Holy  Ghost,  be 
assured  of  that.  And  for  the  rest,  all  political  economy,  as  well 
as  all  higher  virtue,  depends  first  on  sound  work. 

Let  your  laws  then,  I  say,  in  the  beginning,  be  set  to  secure 
this.  You  cannot  make  punishment  too  stem  for  subtle  knavery. 
Keep  no  truce  with  this  enemy,  whatever  pardon  you  extend  to 
more  generous  ones.  For  light  weights  and  false  measures,  or  for 
proved  adulteration  or  dishonest  manufacture  of  article,  the  pen- 
alty should  be  simply  confiscation  of  goods,  and  sending  out  of  the 
country.  The  kind  of  person  who  desires  prosperity  by  such  prac- 
tices, could  not  be  made  to  "emigrate"  too  speedily.  What  to  do 
with  him  in  the  place  you  appointed  to  be  blessed  by  his  presence, 
m  will  in  time  consider. — Letttr  XIV. 


RELIQJOVS  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  3S9 

TBKVT,  THK  W0B8T  OF  CBIXn. 

85. 1  happened  to  be  reading  this  morning  (29th  March)  some 
portions  of  the  Lent  services,  and  I  came  to  a  pause  over  the  familiar 
words,  "And  with  Him  they  crucified  two  thieves."  Have  you  ever 
considered  (I  speak  to  you  now  as  a  professing  Christian),  why. 
in  the  accomplishment  of  the  "numbering  among  transgressors,' 
the  transgreaaon  chosen  should  have  been  especially  thieves — not 
murderers,  nor,  as  far  as  we  know,  sinners  by  any  grces  violence? 
Do  you  observe  how  the  sin  of  theft  is  again  and  again  indicate 
as  the  chiefly  antagonistic  one  to  the  law  of  Christ?  ^'Thia  he  said, 
not  that  he  cared  for  the  poor,  but  because  he  was  a  thief,  and  had 
the  bag"  (of  Judas).  And  again,  though  Barabbas  was  a  leader 
of  sedition,  and  a  murderer  besides — (that  the  popular  election 
might  be  in  all  respects  perfect) — ^et  St.  John,  in  curt  and  con- 
clusive account  of  him,  fastens  again  on  the  theft.  "Then  cried 
they  all  again  saying,  Not  this  man,  but  Barabbas.  Now  Barabbaa 
was  a  roW)er."  I  believe  myself  the  reason  to  be  that  theft  ia 
indeed,  in  its  subtle  forms,  the  most  complete  and  ezcuseless  of 
human  crimes.  Sins  of  violence  usually  nave  passion  to  excuse 
them:  they  may  be  the  madness  of  moments;  or  they  may  be  ap- 
parently the  only  means  of  extrication  from  calamity..  In  other 
cases,  they  are  the  diseased  habits  of  lower  and  brutified  natures. 
But  theft  involving  deliberative  intellect,  and  absence  of  passion, 
is  the  purest  type  of  wilful  iniquity,  in  persons  capable  of  doing 
right.  Which  being  so,  it  seems  to  be  fast  becommg  the  practice 
of  modern  societv  to  crucify  its  Christ  indeed,  as  wilhngly  as  ever, 
in  the  persons  of  His  poor;  but  by  no  means  now  to  crucify  its 
thieves  beside  Him !  It  elevates  its  thieves  after  another  fashion ; 
sets  them  upon  an  hill,  that  their  light  may  shine  before  men,  and 
that  all  may  see  their  good  works,  and  glorify  their  Father,  m— 
the  Oi^KMite  <^  Heaven. 

CBim  AND  PUMMHMBAT. 

86.  Crime  cannot  be  hindered  by  punishment :  it  will  always  find 
some  shape  and  outlet,  unpunishable  or  unclosed.  Crime  can  only 
be  truly  hindered  by  letting  no  man  grow  up  a  criminal— by  tak- 
ing away  the  mil  to  commit  sin ;  not  by  mere  punishment  of  ito 
commission.  Crime,  small  and  great,  can  only  be  truly  stayed  by 
education — not  the  education  of  the  intellect  only,  which  is,  on 
some  men,  wasted,  and  for  others  mischievous;  but  education  of 
the  heart,  whidi  is  alike  good  and  neoemry  tm  tiSiL—'Letttr  XV. 

THB  PHILOSOPUBB'B  8TOHB. 

88.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  else  so  ill-named  as  the  phantom 
called  the  "Philosopher's"  Stone?  A  talisman  that  shall  turn  base 
metel  into  preckms  metal,  nature  aeknowle^^  not;  ma  would  taj 


360  THE  RBLIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

hat  fools  seek  after  it.  Bat  a  talisman  to  turn  base  souls  into  nobl* 
souls,  nature  has  given  iisl  and  that  is  a  "Philoeophar'i"  StOM 

indeed,  but  it  ia  a  stone  which  the  builders  refuse. 

If  there  were  two  valleys  in  California  or  Australia,  with  two 
different  kinds  of  gravel  in  the  bottom  of  them,  and  in  the  one 
stream  bed  you  could  dig  up,  occasionallv  and  by  good  fortune, 
nuggets  of  gold;  and  in  the  other  stream  bed,  certainly  and  with- 
out naiard,  you  could  lig  up  little  caskets,  containing  talismans 
which  gave  length  of  days  and  peace;  and  alabaster  vases  of  pre- 
cious balms,  which  were  better  than  the  Arabian  Dervish's  omt- 
ment,  and  made  not  only  the  eyes  to  see,  but  the  mind  to  know, 
whatever  it  would — I  wonder  in  which  of  the  stream  beds  tbere 
would  be  most  diggen?— L«»«r  XVI. 

TIMS  18  Momnr. 

90.  "Time  is  money" — so  say  your  practised  merchants  and  econo- 
mists. None  of  them,  however,  I  fancy,  as  they  draw  towards 
death,  find  that  the  reverse  ia  true  and  that  "money  is  time?"  Per- 
haps it  might  be  better  for  them  in  the  end  if  they  did  not  turn  so 
much  of  their  time  into  money,  as  no  retransformation  is  possible! 
There  are  other  things,  however,  which  in  the  same  sense  are 
money,  or  cs  i  e  changed  into  it,  as  well  as  time.  Health  is  money, 
wit  is  money,  knowledge  is  money;  and  all  your  health,  and  wit, 
and  knowledge  may  be  changed  for  gold;  and  the  happy  goal  so 
readied,  of  a  sick,  insane,  and  blind,  auriferous  old  age;  but  tha 
gold  cannot  be  changed  in  its  turn  back  into  healdi  and  wit. 

"Time  is  money,''^the  words  tingle  in  my  ears  so  that  I  can't 
go  on  writing.  Is  it  nothing  better,  then  ?  If  we  could  thoroughly 
understand  that  time  was — itself, — would  it  not  be  more  to  the 
purpose?  A  thing  of  which  loss  or  gain  was  absolute  loss,  and 
eriect  gain.  And  that  it  was  expedient  also  to  buy  health  and 
nowledge  with  mc  ey,  if  so  parcbaseable;  but  not  to  haj  vuauif 
with  themf— Letter  XVl. 

Christ's  teaching  about  monev. 

174.  First,  have  you  observed  that  all  Christ's  main  teachings,  by 
direct  order,  by  earnest  parable,  and  by  His  own  permanent  emo- 
tion, regard  the  use  and  misuse  of  money  f  We  might  have  thought, 
if  we  had  been  asked  what  a  divine  teacher  was  most  likely  to 

teach,  that  He  would  have  left  inferior  persons  to  give  directions 
about  money;  and  Himself  spoken  only  concerning  faith  and  love, 
and  the  discipline  of  the  passions,  and  the  guilt  of  the  crimes  of 
Boul  against  soul.  But  not  so.  He  speaks  in  general  terms  of  these. 
But  He  does  not  speak  parables  about  them  for  all  men's  memory, 
nor  permit  Himself  fierce  indignation  against  them,  in  all  men's 
night.   The  Pharisees  Iving  Him  an  aidulteress.   He  writes  hat 


t 


BEU010V8  LSSaONS  IN  POUTICAL  ECONOMY  361 

foririveneas  on  the  dust  of  which  he  had  formed  her.  Another, 
de&ed  of  aU  for  known  sin,  He  reco^iod  as  a  giver  of  unknown 
love.   But  H«  acknowledges  no  love  in  buyers  and  ?e»f"/n 
hou«e.   One  should  have  thought  there  were  people     that  ho«ae 
twenty  times  worse  than  they  ;-Caiapha8  and  his  f»ke-falfle  pnests, 
fX  preyer-makers,  false  leaders  of  the  peopl^who  needed  put- 
}w  to^Sence,  or  to  flight,  with  darkest  wrath.   But  the  «cour« 
S  only  against  the  trafficTcers  and  thieves.  The  two  most  intense  of 
Si  Sii  Srables:  the  two  which  lead  the  rest  in  love  and  in  terror 
(thk  o/^the  Prodigal,  and  of  Dives)  relate,  both  of  them  to  man- 
iS^ent  of  riches*  The  practical  o'der  .Pven  to  Ije  onlv 
of  advice,  of  whom  it  i«  recorded  that  Christ  "loved  hun,  is  briefly 
ahniit  his  nrooertv.   "Sell  that  thou  hast.  . 

And  L^^bStment  of  the.  day  of  ^^.J^dgment^  madeto 
rest  wholly,  neither  on  belief  in  God,  nor  in  anjr  sP^nJ^l^v^ 
iTman,  nor  on  freedom  from  stress  of  stormy,  crime,  but  tto 
Sly,  "i  was  an  hungered  and  ye  gave  me  dnnk;  naked,  and  y 
dMied  me;  aick,  and  ye  came  unto  ma. 

THE  PRODIGAL  BON. 

175  Well,  then,  the  first  thing  to  notice  in  the  parable  of  the 
Prodigd  Son  (and  the  last  thing  which  people  usually  do  notice 
in  itf  iShat  it  is  about  a  Prodigal  1  ife  begins  by  asking 
fSr  hi  sLre^of  his  father's  goods;  he  .gets.it,  carries  it  off  a^ 
JSutea  it.  It  is  true  that  he  wastes  it  in  riotous  livma,  but  yctt 
II?nJt  asked  to  notice  in  what  kind  of  riot:  He  spends  it  with  Bar- 
Sto^ut^  it  is  not  the  harlotry  which  his  elder  brother  accuses 
h£^  mlfy,  but  of  having  'devoured  Ws  father^  ^''''''l.If'h 
fiUi  not  Ae  sensual  life  which  he  accuses  himself  of—  r  which  the 
mann«  S  hb^ishment  accuse  him  of.  But  the  wasteful  \xh. 
S  S  not  said  tLt  he  had  become  debauched  in  soul,  or  diseased 
In  hoSv  bv  his  vice;  but  that  at  last  he  would  f«n  bave  filled 
his  belW  with  husks,  and  could  not.  It  is  not  sa  d  that  he  was 
Sl^ioV  ^ith  remorse  for  the  consequences  of  his  evil  passions,  but 
?Sr  thS  heSSired  there  was^read  enough  and  to  spare,  even 
for  the  servants,  at  home. 

GBTTIKO  HTPO  DBBT. 

TV.  ««t  t>,5nV  T  want  to  extenuate  sins  of  passion  (though,  in 
SSood)  lie  had  f aBai  into  any  sm  yon  d»o«  to  nwoe,  01  au 


3fi»  THE  RELIOION  OF  RVSKIN 

the  mortal  ones,  than  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  running  billa 
which  he  could  not  pay. 

THE  CBOWNINQ  SINS. 

Farther,  though  I  hold  that  the  two  crowning  and  most  aoeoraed 
ains  of  the  society  of  thia  present  day  are  the  carelessness  with 
which  it  regards  the  betrayal  of  women,  and  brutality  with  which 
it  suffers  the  neglect  of  children,  both  these  head  and  chief  crimes, 
and  all  others,  are  rooted  first  in  abuse  of  the  laws,  and  neglect  of 
the  duties,  concerning  wealth.  And  thus  the  love  of  money,  with 
the  parallel  (and,  obser/e  mthematically  commensurate  looseness 
in  management  of  it),  tb  al  tener,"  followed  necessafily  by  the 
"mal  dare,"  is,  indeed,  t'      jt  ot  ah  enL— Letter  XXV. 

THE  prodigal's  CONFESSION. 

176.  Secondly,  I  want  you  to  note  that  when  the  prodigr^  comes 
to  his  8€n8<»,  he  complams  of  nobody  but  himself,  and  speaks  of 
no  unworthiness  but  his  own.  He  says  nothing  against  any  of  the 
women  who  tempted  him — nothing  age'      the  citizen  who  left 

him  to  feed  on  husks — nothing  of  the  fa  friends  of  whom  "no 

man  gave  unto  him" — above  all,  nothing  of  the  "corruption  of 
human  nature,"  or  the  corruption  of  things  in  general.  He  says 
tiiat  he  himself  is  unworthy,  as  distingubhed  from  honourable  per- 
sons, and  that  he  hinuelf  has  sinned,  as  distinguished  from  right- 
ecus  persons.  And  that  is  the  hard  lesson  to  learn,  and  the  begin- 
ning of  faithful  lessons.  All  right  and  fruitful  humility,  and 
purging  of  Heart,  and  seeing  of  God,  is  in  that.  It  is  easy  to  call 
yourself  the  chief  of  sinners,  expecting  every  sinner  round  you  to 
decline — or  return — the  compliment ;  but  learn  to  measure  the  rea^ 
degrees  of  your  own  relative  baseness,  and  to  be  ashamed,  not  L' 
heaven's  sight,  but  in  man's  sipht ;  and  redemption  is  indeed  begur 
Observe  the  phrase,  I  have  sinned  "agairut  heaven,"  against  the 
great  law  of  that,  and  before  thee,  visibly  degraded  before  my  hu 
man  sire  and  guide,  unworthy  any  more  of  being  esteemed  of  his 
blood,  and  desirous  only  ot  taking  the  place  I  ^serve  amcmg  hia 
servants. — Letter  XXV, 

THE  MEANING  OF  THE  PARABLE. 

177.  Now,  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  I  shall  set  many  a  reader's  teeth 
on  edge  by  what  he  will  think  my  carnal  and  material  rendering 
of  this  "beautiful"  parable.  But  I  am  just  as  ready  to  sjjiritualize 
it  as  he  is,  provided  I  am  sure  first  that  we  understand  it.  If  we 
want  to  understand  the  parable  of  the  sower,  we  must  first  tiiink  of 
it  as  of  literal  husbandnr ;  if  we  want  to  understand  the  puable  of 
■QiB  prodigal,  we  must  nxst  nnder^tnd  it  as  of  hteal  prodigality. 


RSLIQI0V8  LESSONS  IN  POUTICAL  ECONOMY  3«J 

And  the  story  has  Jso  for  us  a  precious  lesson  in  this  literal  sense 
of  it,  namely  this,  which  I  have  been  urging  upon  you  through- 
out theso  letters,  that  all  redemption  must  begin  m  subjection,  and 
in  the  recovery  of  the  sense  of  Fatherhood  and  authority,  as  all 
ruin  and  desolation  begin  in  the  loss  of  that  sense.  The  lost  be- 

fan  by  claiming  his  rights.  He  is  found  when  he  resigns  them, 
[e  is  lost  by  flying  Irom  his  father,  when  his  father's  authority  was 
only  paternal.  He  is  found  by  returning  to  his  father,  and  desir* 
ing  that  his  authority  may  be  absolute,  as  over  a  hired  stranger. 

ODD  AND  MAMMON. 

180.  And  now — but  one  word  more— either  for  you,  or  any  other 
readers  who  may  be  stwrtled  at  what  I  have  been  saying  as  to  the 
peculiar  stress  laid  by  the  Founder  of  our  religion  on  right  deal- 
ing with  wealth.  Let  them  be  assured  that  it  is  with  no  fortui- 
tous choice  among  the  attributes  or  powers  of  evil,  that  "Mammon" 
is  assigned  for  the  direct  adversary  of  the  Master  whoni  they  are 
bound  to  serve.  You  cannot,  by  any  artifice  of  reconciliation,  be 
God's  soldier,  and  his.  Nor  while  the  desire  of  gain  is  within  vour 
heart,  can  any  true  knowledge  of  '''.e  Kingdom  of  God  come  there. 
No  one  shall  enter  its  stron^old,-  no  one  receive  its  blessing,  ex- 
cept, "he  that  hath  clean  hands  at  ^  a  pure  heart;"  clean  hands, 
that  have  done  no  cruel  deed  ;— pure  heart,  that  knows  no  base  de- 
sire. And,  therefore,  in  the  highest  spiritual  sense  that  can  be  given 
to  words,  be  assured,  not  respecting  the  literal  temple  of  stone  and 

Sid,  but  of  the  living  temple  of  your  body  and  soul,  that  no  re- 
mption,  nor  teadiing,  nor  hallowing,  will  be  anywise  poasilue  mc 
it,  until  tfiese  two  verses  have  been,  for  it  also,  fulfilled: — 

"And  He  went  into  the  temple,  and  began  to  cast  out  them  that 
sold  therein,  and  them  that  boo^  And  He  tanght  daily  in  the 
temple."— LeWcr  XXV, 


V 


THE  CBOWN  OF  WILD  OUVE. 
(1866-78.) 

This  ia  Mr.  Ruskin's  title  of  a  volume  consisting  <tf  three  leo- 
tares:  (1)  Work.  (2)  Traffic.  (3)  War.  To  these  were  added,  in 
1878,  a  fotirth  leetore  on  The  Fatorc  of  England  and  also  a  trea- 
tise called,  Notes  on  the  Political  Economy  of  Prussia. 

It  should  be  assumed  that  every  lover  of  good  English  literar 
tnre  will  have  at  least  seen,  if  not  read,  the  first  three  lectures, 
since  copies  of  the  book  containing  them  may  be  found  in  many 
of  the  series  of  cheap  reprints.  In  these  reprints,  however,  so  far  as 
we  have  seen,  the  last  two  subjects  are  not  given,  but  they  may  be 
found  in  any  good  edition  of  the  works  of  Ruskin.  They  are  here 
treated  (as  evidently  designed  by  the  Author)  as  part  of  the  work 
bearing  the  title  of  "The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive." 

We  have  made  a  few  selections  from  the  first  lecture  which  Is 
remarkable,  among  other  things,  for  frequent  quotation  of  Script- 
vm.  The  other  three  lectures  must  be  read,  in  the  full  text  of  them, 
in  order  to  appreciate  the  fine  and  striking  passages  which  oceia>. 
Some  of  theni  indeed  are  incoherent,  if  not  wild,  if  read  by  tfawn- 
selves,  apart  from  the  general  thought  and  argument. 

Never,  perhaps,  were  any  gatherings  of  people  more  astonidied 
at  the  words  of  an  invited  lecturer,  than  when  Ruskin  responded 
to  the  mercantile  town  of  Bradford  and  the  military  quarters  at 
Woolwich.  The  Bradford  people  hoped  for  some  suggestions  from 
the  great  art  teacher  on  Architecture  which  might  prove  an  inspira- 
tion for  their  contemplated  Temple  of  Commerce.  Instead,  he  gave 
them  a  picture  of  an  ideal  temple  of  the  "Goddess  of  Getting-on," 
in  which  he  vigorously  criticised  the  methods  of  the  commercial 
world.  "There's  a  great  difference,"  he  said,  "between  'winning* 
money  and  'making*  it;  a  great  difference  between  getting  it  out  of 
another  man's  pocket  into  ours,  or  filling  both.  Collecting  money 
IS  by  no  means  that  same  thing  as  making  it;  the  tax-gatherer"* 

36* 


BEUaiOVS  LESaONS  in  POUTICAL  ECONOMY  365 

hoiiN  iiiMl  the  mint;  and  much  of  the  apparent  gain  (lo^alled) 
in  comiMTCe,  ia  only  a  form  of  taxation  on  carriage  or  exehangr 

To  the  loldien  at  Woolwich  Ruskin  read  mcii  ft  betnn  on  ttt 
moral  telations  of  the  governing  classee  and  tha  pwfaerionai  •* 

dier  as  they  had  never  dreamed  of  hearing. 

Such  outbursta  of  forceful  lecturing  codld  not,  of  ooona,  DO 
xeaentod;  they  had  asked  for  a  fish,— he  did  not  give  them  a  stone, 
but  a  swordfis'i,— food  for  thought  and  weapon  for  •e}^;«^'»*J^ 
To  the  victor  in  the  Olympic  games  at  Qtoaoe  waa  awarded  tha 
nriia  olivo,— token  of  conquest.  To  Ruskin  it  implied  "the  crown  of 
conaxammate  honour »  and  its  significance  is  set  'oith Jn^®  "^P^ 
ing  passage  of  his  introduction.  Having  addreswd  Christian 
Hems  oa  their  ineonaistencies  in  view  of  their  faith  in  immor- 
tality, he  turns  to  those  who  deny  the  after  Ufe  with  the  foUowing 
inspiring  words  of  appeal: — 

aU  the  peace  and  power  and  joy  you  can  ever  win,  must  be 
won  now;  and  all  fruit  of  victory  gathered  here,  or  never— will  you 
■tiU,  throughout  the  puny  totality  of  your  life,  weary  yoursehrea 
in  the  ibe  of  canity?  M  there  is  no  rest  which  remaineth  for  you, 
is  there  none  you  might  presently  take?  was  this  grass  of  the  earth 
made  green  for  your  shroud  only,  not  for  your  bed?  and  can  yoa 
never  Ke  down  upon  it,  but  only  under  it?  The  heathen,  to  whose 
creed  you  have  retvmed,  thought  not  so.   They  knew  that  Ufe 
brought  its  contest,  but  they  expected  from  it  also  the  crown  <rf 
afl  contest.   No  proud  onel  no  jeweled  circlet  flammg  through 
Heaven  above  the  hdght  of  the  unmerited  throne,  only  some  few 
leaves  of  wUd  olive,  cool  to  the  tired  brow,  through  a  few  yeaia 
of  peace.  It  should  have  been  of  gold,  they  thought;  but  Jupiter 
was  poor:  this  was  the  best  the  god  could  give  them.   Seeking  a 
greater  than  this,  they  had  known  it  a  mockery.  Not  in  war,  no* 
Z.  wealth,  not  in  tyranny,  was  there  any  happiness  to  be  found 
for  them— only  in  kindly  peace,  fruitful  and  free.  The  wreath  waa 
to  be  of  viild  oUve,  mark  you— the  tree  that  grows  carelessly,  tuft- 
ing  the  rocks  with  no  vivid  Moom,  no  verdure  of  branch;  only 
with  soft  snow  of  blossom,  and  scarcely  fulfilled  fruit,  mixed 
aray  leaf  and  thorn-set  stem;  no  fastening  of  diadem  for  you  bat 
with  such  sharp  embioideryl  But  this,  such  as  it  is,  you  may^m 
whUe  yet  you  live;  type  of  gray  honour  and  sweet  rest.  Fre^ 
heartednesB,  and  graciousness,  and  undisturbed  trust  and  requiU^ 
love,  and  the  sight  of  the  peace  of  others,  and  tha  nmuitry  to  thaif 


THE  REUQION  OF  RV8KIN 


pilln--the9c,  and  the  blue  sky  above  you,  and  the  sweet  waten  and 
flowew  of  the  earth  beneath;  and  mysteries  and  presences,  innu- 
mertWe,  of  living  things— theee  may  yet  be  here  your  riches;  un- 
tormenting  and  divine:  serviceable  for  the  life  that  now  k'  nor 
it  may  be,  without  promise  of  that  which  ia  to  omna."        *  * 

WORK  GREATER  THAX  WE.VLTH. 

iJil.  r}-  ^  «'^^^y?  jncn  who  would  fain  set  themselves 

to  the  ncouii.ulation  of  wealth  as  the  sole  object  of  thSrHveT 
Necf.8sanly  that  class  of  men  is  an  uneducated  class  nferior  ii' 
intellect,  and  more  or  less  cowardly.    It  is  phvsicallv  iinDZihle 

tn  rffi  0^.  thoughts ;  as  physically  impossible  as  it  &  foJ 
him  to  make  his  dinner  the  principal  object  of  them.  All  healthv 
people  like  their  dinners  but  their  dinner  is  not  the  ml  offi 

t?fit/r"  A'f^'^^  ""'l^'^  P^°P^°  making  mJiey 
—ought  to  like  it,  and  to  enjoy  the  sensation  of  winnini  if  but 
^main  object  of  their  life  is'not  money;  it  fa  soSffSg  beS 

SJmkL    K  0'  his  pay-very  properly  so,  and  justly 

ffin  S  r5'°  T  Keep  him  ten  years  without^  iti^till,  his  S 
S?if  .w''®  "  ^"le«'       to  be  paid  for  winning  then? 

£t^^  ff ^^K^       pew-rents  and  baptismal  fees,  of  courw 
Iwt  yet  if  they  are  brave  and  well  educated,  the  pew-rent  is  not  tta 
2t  nf^?^i  K         ^'T'  baptismal' fee  iTnot  the  soirpS! 

^^L^t  ^^P/^'"".:  the  clergyman's  ob  ect  is  essentially  to  bapHze 
and  preach,  not  to  be  paid  for  preaching.  So  of  doctors  They  liS 
fees  no  doubt-ought  to  like  them:  yet  if  they  are  braVe  an/wel! 
educated,  he  entire  object  of  their  ifves  is  not  fees.  Thev  onlhe 
whole  desire  to  cure  the  sick;  and-if  they  are  good  doc^ora  wd 
ind  w7Jw  put  to  them-would  rather  ?ure  thefr  pltiS? 
and  lose  the  r  fee,  than  kill  him,  and  get  it.  And  so  with  aU  other 
brave  and  rightly  trained  men;  their  work  is  first,  their  feeWnd 
-very  important  always,  but  still  second.  ButS  eve^  nJtJT^ 
I  said,  there  are  a  vast  class  who  are  ill-educated,  cowardlv  and 

fee  18  fost,  and  the  work  secoi,  1,  as  wfth  brave  people  the  work  is 
fhst  and  the  fee  second.  And  this  is  no  small  dbtinct^jn  It  fa 
the  whole  distinction  m  a  man;  distinction  between  life  and  dea£ 
»n  him,  between  heaven  and  hell  for  him.  You  canno'  serve  two 
masters— you  mtM«  serve  one  or  other.  ...  And  it  makes  a  differ 
ence,  now  and  ever  believe  me,  whether  you  serve  Him  who  has  on 

Lect.  I. 


whose  service  u  perfect  slavery.  


RELIOIOUS  LESSONS  IS  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  s6y 

TBB  nV  OF  JUDAS. — ORAFT. 

83.    In  every  nation  tliere  ore,  and  must  alw    .s  be  a  cer- 
tdn  number  of  these  Fiend's  servants,  who  have  it  principally  for 
the  object  of  their  lives  to  make  money.  Jhey  are  always,  as  I 
said,  man  or  leM  itupid,  and  cannot  conceive  of  anything  else  so 
Scea^money.  StupiW  i«  alwayi  the  bwii     the  Judw^a^ 
We  do  great  injustice  to  Iscanot,  in  thinking  him  wicked  atMfVt  m 
common  wickedness.    He  was  only  a  common 
like  all  money-lovers,  didn't  understand  Chnst— oouldn  t  make  oot 
the  worth  of  Him,  or  meaning  of  Hun    He  d/n  t  want  Him  to 
be  '-iUed.  He  waa  horror-atruck  when  he  found  that  Christ  would 
be  killed;  threw  hia  money  away  instantly,  and  hanged  ^  .  c.i. 
Ho*  many  of  our  preaent  money-seekers,  think  you,  wo  i 
the  grace  to  hang  thentelvea,  whoever  was  killed?  But  .aa 
a  common,  selfisi,  muddle-headed,.  pUfermg  feUow;  ^<;^^j^ 
wavs  in  the  bag  of  the  poor,  not  canng  for  them.  He  didn  t  «n<te^ 
stand  Chritr-yet  believed  in  Him,  much  more  than  most  of  ua 
do:  had  seen  Him  do  miracles,  thought  He  was  quite  strong  enough 
to  ahift  for  Himself,  and  he,  Judas,  might  as  well  n.ake  his  own 
Utile  by-perquisitea  out  of  the  affair.  Chnst  would  c?""®  ^' 
well  enough,  and  he  have  his  thirty  pie  9s.  Now,  that  is  the  money- 
Se  °s  "lea  all  over  the  world        doean't  hate  Chnrt,  but  can^^ 
Sderstand  Him-doesn't  care  f or  Hinn-eeea  fo/"^  ^ 
nevolent  business;  makes  his  own  little  job  out  ofit  at  all  evento, 
come  what  will.   And  thus,  out  of  every  man  of  men,  you  haya 
a  Srtdn  number  of  bag-men-your  "fee-first"  nien,  whose  main 
SbSct  ia  to  make  money.   And  they  do  make  it-make  it  m  all 
Ste  of  unfair  ways,  chiefly  by  the  weight  and  force  of  money 
Sdf  or  what  is  <ilied  the'power  of  capital;  that  is  to  say,  the 
J^er  which  money,  once  obtdned    la  over  the   abour  of  Ae 
?oor,  so  that  the  capitalist  am  take  dl  If^ «f 
the  labourer's  food.  That  is  f  e  mo^  a  Judaa'a  way  «f  CMiying 
the  baft"  and  "bearing  lAat  ia  put  theraiii."— /. 

39  It  is  the  law  f  heaven  tiiat  you  shall  not  be  able  to  jnd« 
what  is  wise  or  easy,  unless  you  are  first  resolved  to  judge  what  is 
Sr^nd  to  do  it^That  is  fiie  thin^  constantly  reiterated  by  our 
SSter-the  order  of  all  others  that  Is  riven  oftenes^  Do  justice 
and  judgment?^  your  Bible  ojier;  that'«  the  "Service,  of 

God  "  not  praying  nor  i«alm-8inging.  You  are  told,  indeed,  to  smg 
pis  when  fou  are  m*^,       to  r,«y.  when  you  need  an^^ 

Snd.  by  the  perversion,  o/  ^^i"Vf  ftnKstfS 

praying  and  psalm-singing  are  ';8ervice."  If  a  fadaitwlf ^ 
want  of  anything,  it  runs  in  and  asks  its  father  for  it— does.it  call 
SS,doiS«ito«Sbera8ervice?  If  it  bega  for  a  toy  or  a  piece  of 


368  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

cake— does  it  call  that  serving  its  father?  That,  with  God,  is  prayer, 
and  He  likes  to  hear  it:  He  likes  you  to  ask  Him  for  cake  when 
you  want  it;  but  He  doesn't  call  that  "serving  Him."  B^ng  is 
not  serving:  God  likes  mere  beggars  as  little  as  you  d(>--S^l^e8 
honMt  servants,  not  beggars.  So  when  a  child  loves  its  father  very 
much,  Rnd  u  very  happy,  it  mav  sing  little  songs  about  him,  but 
It  doesD  t  call  that  serving  its  father;  neither  is  singing  songs  about 
•jrod,  serving  God.   It  is  enjoying  ourselves,  if  it's  anything;  more 
probably  it  is  nothing;  but  if  it's  anything,  it  is  serving  ourselves, 
not  Ood.   And  yet  we  are  impudent  enough  to  call  our  begdiua 
and  chantmes  "Divine  Service:"  we  say  «Divine  service^tnfrbe 
performed  '  (that's  our  word— the  form  of  it  gone  through)  "at 
eleven  odock."  Alas  1— unless  we  perform  Divine  service  in  every 
willing  act  of  our  life,  we  never  perform  it  at  all.   The  one  Divine 
— ^the  one  ordered  sacrifice — is  to  do  justice;  and  it  is  the 
last  we  are  ever  inclined  to  do.  Anything  rather  than  that  I  As  much 
chanty  as  you  choose,  but  no  justice.  "Nay,"  you  will  say,  "chari- 
ty IS  greater  than  justice."  Yes,  it  is  greater;  it  is  the  aummit  of 
justice— It  18  the  temple  of  which  justice  is  the  foundation.  But 
you  »nt  have  the  top  without  the  bottom;  you  cannot  build  upon 
chanty.  You  must  build  upon  justice,  for  this  main  reason,  that 
you  have  not,  at  first,  charity  to  build  with.  It  is  the  last  reward  of 
good  work.   Do  justice  to  your  brother  (you  can  do  that,  whether 
you  love  him  or  not),  and  you  will  come  to  love  him.  But  do  in- 
justice to  him,  because  you  d<m*l  love  him;  and  yoa  will  oone  to 
hate  him. — Leet.  I. 


WORK  WITH  GOD  IS  WI8I  WORK. 

Wise  work  is,  briefly,  work  tcith  God.  Foolish  work  is  work 
i^mtt  God.  And  work  done  with  God,  which  He  will  help,  may 
be  bnefly  described  as  "Putting  in  Order"— that  is,  enforcing  God's 
tow  of  order,  q>iritual  and  material,  over  men  and  thii^.  The 
first  thing  you  have  to  do,  essentially;  the  real  "good  woik*"  a,  with 
wroect  to  men,  to  enforce  justice,  and  with  respect  to  things,  to 
Miforce  tidiness,  and  fruitfulness.  And  against  these  two  great 
human  deeds,  justice  and  order,  there  are  perpetually  two  great 
demons  contending— the  devil  of  iniquity,  or  inequity,  and  the 
devil  of  disorder,  or  oi'  death;  for  death  is  only  consummation  of 
disorder.  You  have  to  fight  these  two  fiends  daily.  So  far  as  you 
don  t  fight  against  the  fiend  of  iniquity,  you  work  for  him.  You 
"work  iniquity,"  and  the  judgment  upon  you,  for  all  your  "Lord, 
Lord  s,  will  be  "Depart  from  me,  ye  that  work  iniquity."  And 
so  far  as  you  do  not  resist  the  fiend  of  disorder,  you  work  disorder, 
and  you  yourself  do  the  work  of  Death,  whidi  u  liii.  and  has  for 
its  wages.  Death  himself.— Lcc«.  /.  i  «« 


REUQIOUS  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  369 

"thy  kingdom  come." 
46   If  we  hear  a  man  swear  in  the  streets,  we  think  it  very  wrong, 
and  lay  he  "takes  God's  name  in  vain."    But  there  s  a  twenty 
times  worse  way  of  taking  His  name  in  vain  than  that.  It  is  to 
a»k  God  for  what  ve  don't  want.  He  doesn't  like  that  sort  of  prayer. 
If  you  don't  want  a  thing,  don't  ask  for  it:  such  asking  is  the 
woret  mockery  of  your  King  you  can  mock  Him  with;  the  soldiers 
striking  Him  on  the  head  with  the  reed  was  nothing  to  that.  II 
YOU  do  not  wish  for  His  kingdom,  don't  pray  for  it.   But  if  you 
do  vou  must  do  more  than  pray  for  it;  you  must  work  for  it.  And, 
to  work  for  it,  you  must  know  what  it  is:  we  have  all  P^yed  for 
it  many  a  day  without  thinking.   Observe,  it  is  a  kingdom  that 
is  to  come  to  us  ;  we  an  not  to  go  to  it.   Also,  .it  »s  ^ot  to  be  a 
kingdom  of  the  dead,  but  of  ttie  hving.  Also  it  is  .not  to  come  tdl 
at  once,  but  quietly;  nobody  knows  how,  "The  km^«"^^ 
cometh  not  with  oWrvation  '    Also,  it  is       ^  <»me  outode  of 
us,  but  in  the  hearts  of  us:  "the  kingdom  of  God  »  you. 
And,  being  within  us,  it  is  not  a  thing  to  be  seen,  but  to  be  felt, 
and  though  it  brings  all  substance  of  good  with  i>/.  does  .con- 
sist in  that:  "the  kingdom  of  God  is  not  meat  and  dnnk,  but  nght- 
SusneS%e,  andloy  in  the  Holy  Ghost:"  jpv,  that  is  to  say^ 
in  the  hoi?,  healthful,  and  helpful  Spint.  ^(''^/tK*^.^^ 
for  this  kUgdom,  and  to  bring  it,  and  entw  into  it  there  sju»k 
one  condition  to  be  first  accepted.   You  must  entef.jt^«^.^53{ 
or  not  at  all;  "Whosoever  will  not  receive  it  as  a  little  child  shau 
Srt  Miter  therein."    And  again  "Suffer  little  children  to  come 
mito  me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for  of  such  is  the  kmgdom  of 

^^^'Of  mch,  observe.  Not  of  children  themselves,  but  of  such  as 
children.  I  believe  most  mothers  who  read  that  text  ttunk  that 
dl  heaven  is  to  be  full  of  babies.  But  that's  tiotw.  Ttew  w^ 
be  children  there,  but  the  hoary  head  is  the  crown.  "Un^  of 
days,  and  long  life  and  peace,"  that  is  the  Uemn^,  not  to  die  in 
babyhood.  Children  die  but  for  their  parents'  sm;  God  me^s 
them  to  live  but  He  can't  let  them  always;  then  they  have  their 
SriTerVa^Tin  hea^:  «id  the  Uttle  child  of  Band,  vainly  pnjyed 
for;  the  little  child  of  Jeroboam,  killed  by  Hs  n«*th«'8 
owA  threshold— they  will  be  there.  But  wewy  old  David,  and 
7^  oS  BarziUai,  having  learned  ^^ren's  k-OM  at  lart^^ 
be  there  too,  and  the  one  Question  for  us  all,  o  ji  »^ 

hive  we  leaded  our  child's  lesson?  it  is  J^'^^^'U^^ 
we  want,  and  must  gain  at  oar  peril;  tot  «•  fee,  bri«y,  in  what » 
(Bimditt. — L*et.  1. 

CHILDHOOD  CHABACTKB. 

The  first  ehaneter  of  ri|ht  childhood  «  that  it  «  Modest  A 
iralltevd  diild  dOM  not  tlunk  it  eui  teach  its  parents,  or  that  it 


370  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

knows  everything.  It  may  think  its  father  and  mother  knows  every- 
thin^—perhaps  that  all  grown-up  people  know  everything;— very 
certainly  It  is  sure  that  it  does  not.  And  it  is  always  a.sking  ques- 
tions, and  granting  to  know  more.  WeU,  that  is  the  first  charac- 
ter of  a  good  and  wise  man  at  his  work.  To  know  that  he  knows 
very  little— to  perceive  that  there  are  many  above  him  wiser  than 
he;  and  to  be  always  asking  questions,  wanting  to  learn,  not  to 
teach.  ' 

48.  The  second  character  of  right  childhood  is  to  be  Faithful; 
r erceiving  that  its  father  knows  best  what  is  good  for  it,  and  hav- 
Mg  found  always,  when  it  has  tried  its  own  way  against  his,  that 
He  was  nght  and  it  was  wrong,  a  noble  child  trusts  him  at  last 
wholly,  gives  him  its  hand,  and  will  walk  blindfold  with  him,  if  he 
bids  it.  And  that  is  the  true  character  of  all  good  men  also,  as 
obedient  workers,  or  soldiers  under  captains.  They  know  their 
captain :  where  he  leads  they  must  follow,  what  he  bids,  they  must 
do;  and  without  this  trust  and  faith,  without  this  captainship  and 
soldiership,  no  great  deed  no  great  salvation,  is  possible  to  man. 
It  was  a  deed  ot  this  absolute  trust  which  made  Abraham  the  fa- 
ther of  the  faithful;  it  was  the  declaration  of  the  power  of  God 
as  captain  over  all  men,  and  the  acceptance  of  a  leader  appointed 
by  Him  as  commander  of  the  faithful,  which  laid  the  foundation 
of  whatever  national  power  yet  exists  in  the  East;  and  the  deed  of 
the  Greeks,  which  has  become  the  type  of  unselfish  and  noble 
soldiership  to  all  lands,  and  to  all  times,  was  commemorated,  on 
!uL  lives  to  do  it,  in  the  most  pa- 

thefac,  so  far  as  I  know,  or  can  feel,  of  all  human  utterances:  "Oh. 
r^^f:v.^°  and  tell  our  people  that  we  are  lying  here,  having 
obeyed  their  words."  • 

49.  The  third  character  of  right  childhood  is  to  be  Loving  and 
Generous  Give  a  little  love  to  a  child,  and  you  get  a  great  deal 
back  It  loves  everything  near  it,  when  it  is  a  right  kind  of  chUd— 
would  hurt  nothing,  would  give  the  best  it  has  away,  always,  if 
you  need  it— does  not  lay  plans  for  getting  everything  in  the  house 
for  Itself,  and  delights  in  helping  people;  you  cannot  please  it 
•o  much  as  by  giving  it  a  chance  of  being  useful,  in  ever  so  little  a 
way. 

50.  Because  of  all  these  characters,  lastly,  it  is  Cheerful.  Put- 
ting its  trust  in  its  father,  it  is  careful  for  nothing— being  full  of 
love  to  every  creature,  it  is  happy  always,  whether  in  its  play  or 
in  Its  duty.  Well,  that's  the  great  worker's  character  also,  tak- 
ing  no  thought  for  the  morrow;  taking  thought  only  for  the  duty 
of  the  day;  trusting  somebody  else  to  take  care  of  to-morrow;  know- 
ing indeed  what  labour  is,  but  not  what  sorrow  is;  and  always  ready 
for  play— beautiful  play— for  lovely  human  play  is  like  the  play  of 
tae  bun.  There  s  a  worker  for  you.  He,  steady  to  his  time,  is 
set  as  a  strong  man  to  run  his  coom,  but  also,  he  rejoietth  as  « 


REUGIOUS  LESSONS  IN  POUTICAL  ECONOMY  $71 

strong  man  to  run  hia  course.  See  how  he  plays  in  the  morning, 
with  the  mists  below,  and  the  clouds  above,  with  a  ray  here  and 
a  flash  there,  and  a  shower  of  jewels  everywhere — ^that's  the  Sun's 
plav :  and  great  human  play  is  like  his — all  various — all  full  of  light 
and  life,  and  tender,  as  ihe  dew  of  the  morning. 

So  then,  you  have  the  child's  character  in  uese  four  things- 
Humility,  Faith,  Charity,  and  Cheerfulness.  That's  what  you 
have  got  to  be  converted  to.  "£xcq>t  ye  be  converted  and  become  as 
little  children." — Led.  I. 

THE  IDOL  OF  BICHES. 

84.  This  idol,  forbidden  to  us,  first  of  all  idols,  by  our  Master 
and  faith ;  forbidden  to  us  also  by  every  human  lip  that  has  ever, 
in  any  age  or  people,  been  accounted  of  as  able  to  speak  accord- 
ing to  the  purposes  of  God.  Continue  to  make  that  forbidden  deity 
your  principal  one,  and  soon  no  more  art,  no  more  science,  no 
more  pleasure  will  be  possible.  Catastrophe  will  come;  or  worse 
than  catastrophe,  slow  moldering  and  withering  into  Hades.  ^  But 
if  you  can  fix  some  conception  of  a  true  human  state  of  life  to 
be  striven  for — life  for  all  men  as  for  yourselves ;  if  you  can  deter- 
mine some  honest  and  simple  order  of  existence;  following  those 
trodden  ways  of  wisdom,  wnich  are  pleasantness,  and  seeking  her 

?[uiet  and  withdrawn  paths,  which  are  peace;  then,  and  so  sancti- 
ying  wealth  unto  "commonwealth,"  all  your  art,  your  literature, 
your  daily  labors,  your  domestic  affection,  and  citizen's  duty^will 
join  and  increase  into  one  magnificent  harmony.  You  will  know 
then  how  to  build,  well  enough;  you  will  build  with  stone  well  but 
with  flesh  better;  temples  not  made  with  hands,  but  riveted  of 
hearts;  and  that  kind  <d  muUe,  eriimoii-TeiiMd,  it  indeed  eta>> 
nal. — Leet.  II. 

THE  WASTE  AND  VICE  OF  BETTING. 

127.  There  is  one  way  of  wasting  time,  of  all  the  vilest,  because  it 
wastes,  not  time  only,  but  the  interest  and  energy  of  your  minds. 
Of  all  the  ungentlemanly  habits  into  which  you  can  fdl,  the 
vilest  is  betting,  or  interesting  yourselves  in  the  issues  of  betting.  It 
unites  nearly  every  condition  of  folly  and  vice:  you  concentrate 
your  interest  upon  a  matter  of  chance,  instead  of  upon  a  subject 
of  true  knowledge;  and  you  back  opinions  which  you  have  no 
grounds  for  forming,  merely  because  they  are  your  own.  All  the 
insolence  of  egotism  is  in  this;  and  so  far  as  the  love  of  excitement 
IS  complicated  with  the  hope  of  winning  money,  you  turn  you*' 
selves  mto  the  basest  sort  of  tradesmen — those  who  live  by  tpecn- 
lation.  Were  there  no  other  ground  for  industry,  this  would  be 
a  sufficient  one;  that  it  protected  you  from  the  temptation  to  so 
scandalous  a  vice.  Work  faithf-Uy.  and  you  will  put  youraelves  in 
lioHMion  of  •  ^oriow  and  cnl«v^  ha^piiMM;  »>* 


3f  TEE  RELiaiON.  OF  RUSKIN 

be  won  by  tbe  speed  of  ft  honw^  or  manod  bgr  fho  obliqpdty  of  • 
ball. — Lect.  III. 

BiBLK  nrjtnrcnoNB  to  women. 

131.  If  you  choose  to  obey  your  Bibles,  you  will  not  care  who  at- 
tacks them.  It  is  just  because  you  never  fulfil  a  single  downright 
precept  of  the  Book,  that  you  are  so  careful  for  its  credit:  and 
just  because  you  don't  care  to  obey  its  whole  words,  that  you  are 
80  particular  about  the  letters  of  them.  The  Bible  tells  you  to 
dress  plainly — and  you  are  mad  for  finery;  the  Bible  tells  you  to 
have  pity  on  the  poor — and  you  crush  them  under  your  carriage- 
wheels;  the  Bible  tells  you  to  do  judgment  and  justic" — and  you  do 
not  know,  nor  care  to  know,  cio  much  as  what  (he  Bible  word  "jus- 
tice" means.  Do  but  learn  so  much  of  God's  trutib  as  that  comes 
to;  know  what  He  means  when  He  tells  you  to  be  just:  and  teadi 
your  sons,  that  their  bravery  is  but  a  fool's  boast,  and  their  deeds 
but  a  firebrand's  tossing,  unless  they  are  indeed  Just  men,  and 
Perfect  in  the  Fear  of  God;  and  you  will  soon  have  no  more  war, 
unless  it  be  indeed  such  as  it  is  willed  by  Him,  of  whom,  though 
Prince  of  Peace,  it  is  also  written,  "In  Bij^teousness  He  doth  judge, 
and  make  war."— £«e<.  ///. 


VI 


FOBS  CLAViaSRA. 
Lrtbm  to  thb  WoBKMnr  ahd  IiiiwianM  of  Gbba*  BmuK. 
Tovu  VoLVxn.  (1871-80.) 

Here  we  find  Bnakin,  in  all  his  many  varied  m^'da  and  diar- 
acteristics.  If  we  would  knov  aim  as  be  is, — ^nov  in  a  quiet, 
friendly  fashion,  writing  as  one  mi^t  do  to  a  companion, — th«i 
banting  into  a  perfect  hurricane  of  passionate  pr  cr*  against  some 
great  wrong  or  evii;  again,  arguing  out  some  question  of  rij^t 
statement,  or  perhaps  vigorously  throwing  down  the  giige  of  battlo 
against  some  philosopher's  doctrine  ;  or  again,  moved  by  the  read- 
ing of  his  morning  paper,  he  describes  some  social  horror  or  tragic 
death,  in  terms  as  graphic  and  even  moro  forcible  tiun  Hood's 
"Bridge  of  Sighs;"  or.  perhaps,  he  thunders  with  a  prophet's  tongue 
against  the  inequalities  and  crimes  of  political  op  govemmoital 
policy;— now  writing  in  flowing,  poetic  language  whidi  remindi 
one  of  Wordsworth,  and  now  pouring  forth  anathemas  as  drastic 
and  ironic  as  Carlyle;— now  full  of  story  and  simple  tale,— -then 
humorous  and  sarcastic,  or  sympathetic  and  iender,  as  tho  sob- 
jeet  moves  him;  if,  we  repeat,  we  would  see  Buskin  in  all  these 
moods,  and  yet  find  him  sinoeie..  merent  and  Scriptural,  we  murt 
read  Fort  Clavigera. 

These  four  (sometimes  divided  into  eij^t)  volumes,  making  a 
total  of  1726  pagea  (430,  46o,  424,  412),  contain  96  letters.  The 
letters  were  begun  oi.  January  Ist,  1371,  and  were  at  first  pob- 
lidied  monthly,  but  this  arrangement  was  not  sustained  regularly 
thiou^  the  whole  series.  Letters  XC  to  XCVI  were  appended  two 
yean  after  the  general  series  was  closed,  the  interruption  *«ing  oo« 
oationed  by  sickness. 

We  will  let  Mr.  Buskin  himself  explain  ih»  title,  whic^  -e  doji 
in  the  second  letter: 

"Von  is  the  best  part  of  three  good  English  words,  Force,  Forti- 
tude, and  Fortune.  I  wish  yea.  to  know  the  meaning  of  those 
three  woxcb  accoratdy. 

m 


374 


THE  REUOION  OF  BUSKIN 


Force,  (in  humanity),  means  power  of  doine  good  work.  A 
fool,  or  a  corpse,  can  do  any  quantity  of  mischief;  but  only  a  viae 
and  Rtrong  man,  or,  with  what  true  vital  force  there  ii  in  him,  a 
weak  one,  can  00  s^>od. 

Fortitude  means  the  power  of  bearing  neoesrary  pain,  or  trial 
of  patience,  whether  by  time,  or  temptation. 

Fortune  means  the  necessary  fate  of  a  man:  the  ordinance  of 
his  life  which  cannot  be  changed.  To  'make  your  Fortune'  is  to 
rule  that  appointed  fate  to  tue  beat  ends  of  which  it  is  capable. 

Fors  is  a  feminine  word;  and  Clavigeia  is,  therefore,  uift  femi> 
nine  of  Claviger. 

Clava  means  a  club.  Clavis,  a  key.  Clavus,  a  nail,  or  a  rudder. 

Gero  means  I  carry.  It  is  the  root  of  our  word  gesture  (the  way 
you  carry  yourself) ;  and,  in  a  curious  byeway,  of  jest. 

Clavigera  may  mean,  therefne,  either  Qub-bearw,  Key-beaier, 
or  Nail-bearer. 

Each  of  these  three  possible  meanings  of  Clavigera  omespimds 
to  one  of  the  three  meanings  of  Fors. 

Fors,  the  Club-bearer,  means  the  strength  of  Hercules  or  of  Deed. 

F<HB,  tlM  Key-bMrar,  means  the  strength  of  Ulysses,  or  of  Pa- 
tience. 

Fors,  the  Nail-bearer,  means  the  strength  of  Lycargas,  or  of 
Law." 

These  unique  letters  are  of  absorbing  interest  from  many  points 

of  view.  They  reveal  so  much  of  the  author's  deepest  feeling  and 
broad  humanitarian  benevolence.  They  are  made  the  medium  of 
advocacy  and  exposition  of  the  St.  George's  Cruild,  containing  quite 
a  cyclopedia  of  information  as  to  its  purpose,  plans,  and  progress. 
They  contain  reviews  of  Buskin's  own  studies,  with  sketches  and 
stories  and  lives  of  men;  one  sees  Soott  and  Carlyle  and  Emerson 
and  Tennyson  as  Ruskin  saw  them. 

These  letters  are,  as  Harrison  points  out,  'Tantastic,  wayward, 
egotistic,  as  in  no  other  book  in  our  language.  Fors  is  Buskin's 
Kan'-let;  it  is  also  his  Apocalypse.  ...  In  all  these  two  thousand 
pages  of  the  four  volumes,  dealing  with  things  as  miscellaneous  and 
diverse  as  the  words  in  the  Standard  Dictionary  of  the  English 
language,  it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  single  sentence  which  was  not 
quite  clear  and  obvious  to  the  most  ordinary  readers.'"  Yet  when 
all  this  is  said  these  letters  abound  in  sane  discussion  of  living  is- 
sues and  in  sound  moral  utterances  on  all  sorts  of  subjects.  No 
one  can  know  Buskin  until  he  has  read  For$.  He  ^'n^'if^f  points 
oat  that: — 

^  Joka  BmMd,     Fiad.  Bentoon.  pp.  m,  IH. 


RELIGIOUS  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  37S 

"Beaders  should  he  clearly  aware  of  one  peculiarity  in  the  mui- 
ner  of  my  writing  in  Fort,  which  might  otherwise  much  mis- 
lead them;— namely,  that  if  they  will  enclose  in  brackets  with 
their  pen,  passages  of  evident  ironv,  all  the  rest  of  the  tx^okM 
written  with  absolute  seriousness  and  literalness  of  meaning.  The 
volence,  or  grotesque  aspect,  of  a  statement  may  seem  as  if  I  were 
mocking;  but  this  coiaes  mainly  of  my  endeavour  to  bring  the 
absolute  truth  out  into  pure  crystalline  structure,  unmodified  by 
disguise  of  custom,  or  obscurity  of  language ;  for  the  result  of  that 
process  is  continually  to  reduce  the  facts  into  a  form  so  contrary, 
if  theoretical,  to  our  ordinary  impressions,  and  so  contrary,  if  moid, 
to  our  ordinary  practice,  that  the  straightforward  statement  M 
them  looks  like  a  jest.  But  every  such  apparent  jest  will  be  foand, 
if  you  think  of  it,  a  pure,  T«y  dnadful,  and  ntteny  impenoai, 
veracity." — Letter  67. 

And  he  adds  a  series  of  aphorisms  which,  he  says,  "contaiu  the 
gist  of  the  book."  These  aphorisms  ate  nzteen  in  number  and  ftU 
nearly  six  ptgea  <rf  letter  67,  Volume  3. 

In  Fon  also,  leUgioui  theme  j  and  Scripture  references  abound. 
Oar  selections  are  taken  from  the  solid  and  serious  of  the  letters, 
but  everywhere  Scripture  allusions  and  texts  are  found;  and  some- 
times whole  pages,— page  after  page— are  filled  with  running  com- 
ment upon  some  Scnptc-^  rtnd^.  For  example  in  Volume  3,  let- 
ter 61  contains  a  genealogical  tree  of  Shem,  Ham  and  Japheth. 
The  same  letter  announces  the  first  volume  of  a  series  of  classical 
books  for  the  St.  George's  library  and  pnmiiaes  that  "the  Libi  ry 
shall  contain  the  lives  and  writings  of  the  men  who  have  taught 
the  purest  theological  truth,  .  .  .  Moses,  Hesiod,  Virgil,  Dante, 
Chaucer  and  John  the  Dhrine." 

Letter  63  contains  a  commentary  on  the  text,  "unfruitful  works 
of  darkness,"  and  another  on  "the  peace  of  God  which  paaseth  all 
understanding,"  with  interesting  notes  on  the  holy  land  and  refer, 
ences  to  Gen.  10:15-18;  Judges  3:3-7;  Num.  18:22-29;  Deo.  8: 
8-13;  Josh.  10:6-14;  Gen.  48:22,  etc. 

These,  and  many  other  passages,  whidi  illnstr^  the  purpose  <« 
our  volume  are  so  frequent,  and  are  so  run  in  with  o*her  nbjeeli 
that  we  can  only  call  attention  to  them  in  this  brief  way. 

The  96th,  and  last  of  the  letters,  contains  a  charming  rtM7^  <rf 
"Rosy  Vale,"  and  etmdudes  the  entire  Matiei  with  tfM  foQomng 
exquisite  passages: — 
This  lovely  history,  of  a  life  spent  in  the  garden  of  God,  sums. 


il6  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

as  it  illuminefl,  all  that  I  have  tried  to  teach  in  the  seriei  of  letlMi 
which  I  now  feel  that  it  is  time  to  close. 

The  "Qo  and  do  thou  likewise,"  which  every  kindly  intelligent 
spirit  cannot  but  hear  spoken  to  it,  in  each  sentence  of  the  quiet 
narrative,  is  of  more  searching  and  all-embracing  urgency  than 
any  appeal  I  have  dared  to  make  in  my  own  writings.  liooking 
back  upon  my  efforts  for  the  last  twenty  years,  I  believe  that  their 
failure  has  been  in  very  great  part  owing  to  my  compromise  with 
the  infidelity  of  this  outer  world,  and  mv  endeavour  to  base  my 
pleadins  npon  motives  of  ordinary  prudence  and  kindnees,  in- 
stead of  on  the  primary  duty  of  loving  Uod, — foundation  other  than 
which  can  no  man  lay.  I  thought  myself  speaking  to  a  crowd 
which  could  only  be  influenced  By  visible  utility;  nor  was  I  the 
least  aware  how  many  entirely  good  and  holy  persons  were  living 
in  the  faith  and  love  of  God  as  vividlv  and  practically  now  aa 
ever  in  the  early  enthusiasm  of  Christendom,  until,  chie^  in  con- 
sequence of  the  great  illnesMS  which,  for  some  time  liter  1878,  for- 
bade my  accustomed  literary  labour.  I  was  broaght  into  closer  per- 
sonal relations  with  the  friends  in  America,  Scotland,  Ireland,  and 
Italy,  to  whom,  if  I  am  spared  to  write  any  record  of  my  life, 
it  will  be  seen  that  I  owe  the  best  hopes  and  highest  thoughts  which 
have  supported  and  guided  the  force  of  my  matured  mind.  Theta 
have  stunm  me,  with  lovely  initiation,  in  how  many  secret  plaow 
the  prayer  was  made  which  I  had  foolishly  listened  for  at  the  ooiw 
ners  of  the  streets;  and  on  how  many  hills  which  I  had  thoag^t  left 
desolate,  the  hosts  of  heaven  still  moved  in  chariots  of  fire. 

But  surely  the  time  is  come  when  all  these  faithful  armies  should 
lift  up  the  standard  of  their  Lord, — not  by  might,  nor  by  power, 
but  by  His  spirit-  bringing  forth  judgment  unto  victory.  That  they 
should  no  more  be  hidden,  nor  overcome  of  evil,  but  overcome  evu 
with  good.  If  the  enem^  oometh  in  like  a  flood,  how  much  num 
may  the  rivers  of  Paradise?  Are  theta  not  foontaint  of  the  great 
deep  'Jiat  open  to  bless,  not  destroy? 

And  the  beginning  of  blessing,  if  you  will  think  of  it,  is  in  that 
promise,  "Great  shall  be  the  peace  of  thy  children."  All  the 
world  is  but  as  one  orphanage,  so  long  as  its  children  know  not  God 
their  Father;  and  all  wisdom  and  knowledge  is  only  more  bewildered 
darkness,  so  long  as  you  have  not  tau^t  them  the  fear  of  the 
Lord. 

Not  to  be  taken  ont  of  the  world  in  monastic  sorrow,  hut  to  be 
kept  from  its  evil  in  shepherd xl  peace; — ought  not  this -to  be  done 
for  all  the  children  held  at  the  fonts  beside  which  we  vow,  in  their 
name,  to  renounce  the  world?  Renounce  I  nay,  ought  we  not,  at 
last,  to  redeem? 

The  story  of  Rosy  Vale  is  not  ended; — surely  out  of  its  silence 
the  mountains  and  the  hills  shall  break  forth  into  singing,  and 
(oond  it  the  desert  rejoioe,  and  bloMom  as  the  rose  I — LetUr  96. 


BELI0I0U8  LESSONS  IN  POIITIOAL  ECONOMY  m 

BIOHTaOUSMIBB  ASV  JVmCM. 

My  Mends,  yoa  hwn  trarted,  in  700  tioM,  top  mmj  idle  woidk 
Read  now  theee  following,  not  idto  mm',  and  nmmtmt  tktm; 

and  trust  them,  for  they  are  true: — 

"Oh,  thou  afflicted,  tosBed  with  tempest,  and  not  comforted,  be- 
hold, I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair  colours,  and  lay  thy  foundation* 

^'^kSP^l^y  children  shall  be  taught  of  the  Lord;  and  greai 

shall  be  the  peace  of  thy  chUdren.   ^  ,  ^  ,  , 

"In  righteousness  shalt  thou  be  estaMished;  thou  Aait  be  far  frmn 
oppression;  for  thou  shalt  not  fear:  and  from  terror;  for  it  diall 

not  come  near  thee.  ...  .  „  ,  ,1  «  xi. 

"Whosoever  shall  gather  together  against  thee  shall  fall  for  tny 

"No'weaix)n  that  is  formed  against  thee  shall  prosper;  and  every 
tongue  that  shall  rise  against  thee  in  judgment  thou  shalt  con- 
demn. This  is  the  hoitMe  of  the  servants  of  the  Lord ;  and  their 
righteousness  is  of  me,  satth  the  Lwd."  „  ^ 

Remember  only  that  in  this  now  antiquated  translation,  'ri|^t- 
eousness"  means,  accurately,  and  simply,  "justice,"  and  M  tiie  «t»- 
nal  law  of  right,  obeyed  alike  in  the  grwt  times  of  «mb  rtat^  tf 
Jew,  Cheek,  and  Roman.— LeMer  8. 

JUSnCB  IN  KDUCATIOW. 

In  education  especially,  true  justice  is  curiously  unequal— if  yoji 
dioose  to  give  it  a  hard  name,  iniquitous.  The  right  law  of  it  is 
that  you  are  to  take  most  pains  with  the  best  material.  Many  con- 
■cientious  mastns  will  plead  for  the  exactly  contra^  iniquity,  and 
say  you  should  take  the  most  pains  with  the  dullest  boys.  But  thai 
is  not  so  (only  you  must  be  very  careful  that  you  know  yhuA  ar« 
the  dull  boys;  for  the  cleverest  look  often  very  like  them).  Never 
waste  pains  on  bad  ground;  let  it  remain  rough,  though  properly 
looked  after  and  cai^  for;  it  will  be  of  best  service  so;  but  roare  no 
labour  on  the  good,  or  on  what  has  in  it  the  capacity  of  good.— Le*- 
<«r  ». 

A  csaaauAH  lsttkb  about  Christmas. 
For  one  or  two  things  this  story  of  the  Nativity  «  certainly,  and 
without  any  manner  of  doubt.  It  relates  either  a  fact  full  of  power, 
or  a  dream  full  of  meaning.  It  is,  at  the  least,  not  a  cunnmgly  do- 
vised  fable,  but  the  record  of  an  impression  made,  by  some  Strang* 
spiritual  cause,  on  the  minds  of  the  human  race,  at  the  m(wt  criti<«l 
period  of  their  existence  ;— an  impression  which  has  produced,  in 
cast  aoes,  the  greatest  effect  on  mankind  ever  yet  achieved  by  an  in- 
tollectaal  conception;  and  which  is  yet  to  gmde,  bv  the  deteraMn*. 
Hon  of  its  truth  or  falsehood,  the  abiolnte  dsMny  la  ages  to 


MUS 


iili 


»•  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

Will  vou  give  some  little  time,  therefore,  to  think  of  it  with  m* 
to^ay,  bein^,  u  you  tell  me,  sure  of  its  truth?  What,  then  let  bm 
ask  you,  IS  its  truth  io  youf  The  ChUd  for  whoM  birth  you  m 
rejoicing  was  born,  you  are  told,  to  mto  His  people  from  their  dna: 
but  I  have  never  noticed  that  you  wen  pwticularly  conscious  of 
sins  to  be  saved  from.  If  I  were  to  tax  you  with  any  one  in  partien- 
tar— lying,  m  thieving,  or  the  like— my  belief  is  you  would  mw 
aiiectly  I  had  no  business  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 

Nay,  but,  you  may  perhaps  answer  me— "That  k  beenm  we 
have  been  saved  from  our  sins;  and  we  are  makina  merry.  hattUM 
we  are  so  perfectly  good."  *  ^'j,  wmam 

What  is,  or  may  be,  this  Nativity,  to  you,  then,  I  repeat?  Shall 
we  consider,  a  httle,  what,  at  aU  eventa,  it  was  to  the  people 
of  Its  time ;  and  so  make  ourselyes  more  clear  m  to  wlMt  it  micdtt  bo 

to  us?  We  will  read  slowly.  vm 
"And  there  were,  in  that  country,  shepherds,  stayins  out  in  Um 
held,  keefjing  watch  over  their  flocks  by  night." 

Watching  night  and  day,  that  means ;  not  going  home.  The  stay- 
ing out  m  the  field  is  the  translation  of  a  word  from  which  a  Greek 
nymph  has  her  name,  Agraulos,  "the  stayer  out  in  fields,"  of  whom 
1  shall  have  something  to  tell  you,  soon. 

"And  behold,  the  Messenger  of  the  Lord  stood  above  them,  and  the 
gloiy  of  the  Lord  lighted  round  them,  and  they  feared  a  great  fear." 

Messenger.  You  must  remember  that,  when  this  was  writ*en, 
the  word  angel"  had  only  the  eflfect  of  our  word— "messeneer"— • 


tified  by  works,  when  she  had  received  the  angels,  and  sent  them 
forth  another  way?" 


-  -  •  « 

You  see,  I  have  written  above,  not  "good  will  towards  men,"  but 
love  among  men."  It  is  nearer  right  so ;  but  the  word  is  not  easy  to 
translate  at  all  What  it  means  precisely,  you  may  conjecture  l>eet 
from  Its  use  at  Christ's  baptism— ''This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom 
I  ^  weUytleated.  For,  in  precisely  the  same  words,  the  aafiels 
say,  there  is  to  be  "well-pleasing  in  men  " 

*  ^^',,™y  religious  friends,  I  continually  hear  you  talk  of  acting 
for  Gods  glorv,  and  giving  God  praise.  Might  yoa  not,  for  the 
present,  think  less  of  praising,  and  more  of  pleasing  Him?  He  can, 
pc-haps,  dispense  with  your  praise;  your  opinions  of  His  character, 
even  when  they  come  to  be  held  by  a  large  body  of  the  religious 
press,  are  not  of  material  unportance  to  Him.  He  has  -the  hosts  of 
heaven  to  praise  Him,  who  see  more  of  His  ways,  it  is  likely,  than 

TOu;  but  you  hear  that  you  may  be  pleasing  to  Him  if  you  try:  

that  He  expected,  then,  to  have  some  satisfaction  in  you;  and  might 


RELIGIOUS  LESSONS  IN  POUTIOAL  SOONOMY  J79 

have  even  gnat  Mtiifaction— well-pleMing,  ai  in  Hii  own  Son,  if 
joo  tfitd. 

The  shepherds  were  told  that  their  Savioor  was  that  day  bom 
to  them  "in  David's  village."  We  are  apt  to  think  that  this  wai 
told,  ai  of  special  interest  to  them,  because  David  was  a  King. 

Not  w.  It  was  told  them  because  David  was  in  vouth  not  a 
King;  but  a  I9bepherd  like  themselvea.  "To  you,  shepherds,  is 
born  this  day  a  Bsrioor  In  the  shepherd's  town;"  that  would  be 
the  deep  sound  of  the  message  in  their  eats.  For  the  gnat  inter* 
est  to  them  in  the  story  of  David  himself  must  hate  been  always, 
not  that  he  had  saved  the  monarchy,  or  subdued  Syria,  or  writ- 
ten Psalms,  but  that  he  had  kept  sheep  in  those  very  fields  they 
were  watching  in;  and  thai  his  gnmdmolber  Roth  hid  gone  ifima>- 
ing,  bud  by. 

And  they  said  hastily,  "Let  us  go  and  see." 

Will  you  note  carefully  that  they  only  think  of  $mng,  not  of 
worshipping.  Even  when  they  do  see  the  Child,  it  is  not  said  th^ 
they  worshipped.  They  were  simple  people,  and  had  not  much 
faculty  of  worship;  even  though  the  heavens  had  opened  for  them, 
and  the  hosts  of  heaven  had  sung.  They  had  been  at  first  only 
frightened;  then  enrioos,  and  communicative  to  the  by-standers: 
they  do  not  think  even  of  making  any  offering,  which  would  have 
been  a  natural  thought  enough,  as  it  was  to  the  first  of  shepherds: 
but  they  brought  no  firstlings  of  ihehr  flock— fit  is  only  in  picturra, 
and  those  chiefly  painted  for  the  sake  of  the  picturesque,  that  the 
shepherds  are  seen  bringing  lambs,  and  baskets  of  egm).  It  is  not 
said  here  that  they  brought  anything,  but  they  looked,  wid  talked, 
and  went  away  praising  God,  as  simple  people,— yet  taking  noth- 
ing  to  hstft;  on^  tbe  modier  did  tbaU-^L«tt«f  if. 

job's  question  of  thk  rain. 

Do  yon  remember  the  questioning  to  Job?  .  .  .  Read  the 
question  concerning  this  April  time?— "Hath  the  rain  a  father— 
uid  who  hath  begotten  the  drops  of  dew,— the  hoary  Frost  of 
Heaven— who  hath  gendered  it?"  ^    . .  .  i 

That  rain  and  frost  of  heaven;  and  the  earth  which  they  loos* 
and  bind:  these,  and  the  labour  of  your  hands  to  divide  them,  and 
subdue,  are  your  wealth,  for  ever— unincreasable.  The  fruit  of 
Earth,  and  its  waters,  and  its  light— such  as  the  strength  of  the  pure 
Toek  can  grow— such  as  the  unthwarted  sun  in  his  seasor  brings— 
these  are  your  inhoitanoe.  You  can  diminish  it,  but  cannot  in- 
crease: that  your  bams  should  be  filled  vnih.  plenty— your  presses 
burst  with  new  wine,  is  your  blesaing;  and  every  year— when  it  is 
fuU  ^it  must  be  new;  and  every  year,  no  more. — L4tt€r  10. 


jle  THE  RELIGION  CF  RUSKIN 

CVB8IK0  AMD  BWSABIWO. 

ObMnrt  tho  that  iWMuring  is  onlv  by  extremely  ignorant  pevMna 

supposed  to  be  on  infrinsement  of  the  Third  Ciommandment.  It 
is  disobedience  to  the  teaching  of  Christ;  but  the  Third  Command- 
ment has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  People  do  not  take  the 
name  of  God  in  vain  when  they  swear;  they  use  it,  on  the  contrary, 
very  earnestly  and  energetically  to  attest  what  they  wish  to  say. 
But  when  the  Concert  begins  with  the  hymn,  "Tb»  will  of  Qod 
ba  done,"  while  the  audience  know  perfectlv  w«Il  that  there  is  not 
one  in  a  thousand  of  them  who  is  trying  to  do  it,  or  who  would  have 
it  done,  if  he  could  help  it,  unless  it  was  his  own  will  too — that 
is  taking  the  name  of  God  in  vain,  with  a  venseanoe. 

Cursing,  on  the  other  hand,  is  invoking  the  aid  c'  >  Spirit  to 
a  harm  you  wish  to  see  accomplished,  but  which  is  too  great  for 
your  own  immediate  power:  and  to-day  I  wish  to  point  out  to  you 
what  intensity  of  faith  in  the  existence  and  activity  of  a  spirit* 
ual  world  is  evinoed  by  the  mma  which  is  «Mrfti«'itTittiif  of  tha 
English  tongue. — Letter  90. 

PSALMS  XIV  AMD  XV   IN  QUAINT  VERSE. 

I  think,  accordingly,  that  some  of  my  readers  m<>.y  be  glad  to 
hava  a  aoonder  version  of  that  Pbalm  16th,  and  as  the  l4th  ia  mudi 
connected  with  it,  and  will  be  varioosly  naefnl  to  ns  afterwards, 

here  they  both  are,  done  into  verse  by  an  Enelish  sc|uire, — or  his 
sister,  for  they  alike  could  rhyme;  and  the  last  finished  singina 
what  her  brnthar  left  wwang,  the  liiird  "Em  having  early  pot  aau 
on  his  r*M. 

PSALM  XIV.— (DMitt  7ii«tf)tMM.) 
The  foolish  man  by  flesh  and  fancy  Md 
Bis  gailty  hart  with  this  fond  thought  halh  Ms 
There  ii  noe  God  that  raigneth. 

And  to  thereafter  be  and  all  hia  matM 
Do  vMfcM,  wkich  cartk  emopt,  aad  Hmvm  hatiet 
Mot  CM  thst  good  TomtlBrta. 

Even  God  him  self  sent  down  Ma  ploniag  Of. 
If  of  thia  clayy  race  be  eoald  ma 

Omt,  ihM  hia  wMom  tasnath. 

Al4  loe,  he  finds  that  all  a  strayeng  went: 
AH  flnng'd  in  atincking  flltb,  not  one  well  beat^ 
Not  «M  that  God  diaetmeth. 

O  Mtddnea  of  theae  folkea.  thoa  loosly  ledd! 
Theae  eanibalb,  who,  aa  If  tiiey  wen  bitad, 
Ooda  people  do  devower: 

Mor  CTer  call  on  Ood:  bat  they  shall  qnake 
Man  than  they  now  do  bngg.  whaa  ha  Aall  ate 
The  Joat  into  liie  power. 


BMU0I0V8  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  WOOVOMY  jli 


„         Htm  Bfoe  •ten  tt*  Unm  < 
«tet  Mb  liM«  to  tte%  aaMM 
Aai  iMMi  Ml  «<  mmirnit 


PtULM  ZV^<OmMm^  flirit  MMaM.) 

to  ttliniiti  tklM.  O  I«rd.  wte  itell  NmalMt 

t<tH.  •(  tky  tel7  hin.  wte  iteU  tte  rnt  obUinT 

■t'b  te  ttet  ImdM  M  lift  of  nneorruptcd  trmlB*. 

WboM  dccdi  of  riititeona  hart,  whow  terty  wordM  b*  pMII 

Who  with  deecitfull  toogat  hath  never  ui'd  to  f»lii»; 

Nor  Doikltboart  burtw  by  dc«d«,  nor  doth  wltb  ilandw  MMt 

WboM  eyw  •  ponon  t>1o  doth  bold  in  rilo  ditdmlno. 

Bat  doth,  with  hoooor  fTMto,  tte  godly  oatwUiM: 

Wte  otte  ud  promiM  glita  doth  falthfally  mlatala^ 

Alitevk  MB*  woiMly  tow  ^rriqr  ho  may  motaia ; 

Jhmm  Mim  Mon  wte  am  4eth  nfialM: 

Wte  Mlb  Mt  inltllMM  ama  lor  Uthr  lava  at  itlak 

Wba  Itaa  rwmlw  ttr  v.  la  aaaiai  aawt  ikdi  nOpk 

You  may  not  like  this  old  English  at  first;  but,  if  yon  can 
find  anyboay  to  rcMid  it  to  you  who  has  an  ear,  its  oadence  u  massy 
and  grand,  more  than  that  of  most  verse  I  know,  and  never  a  word 
is  lost.  WlMthw  joa  Uk«  it  or  not,  tha  mom  of  U  is  tni*.— 
LsMmt  if. 

or  U8VSY  AKD  CHBISTlf  AS. 


I  sot  a  note  from  an  arithmetical  friend  the  other  day,  speaking 
of  the  death  of  "an  old  lady,  a  cousin  of  mine,  who  left— (e/<, 
because  she  could  not  take  it  with  her— 200,000/.  On  calculation,  I 
found  this  old  lady  who  had  been  lying  bedridden  for  a  year,  WM 
accumulating  money  (».  the  results  i  other  people's  labour,)  at 
the  rate  of  4d.  a  minute;  in  other  words,  e  awoke  in  the  momme 
ten  pounds  richer  than  she  went  to  bed."  At  which,  doubtlese,  and 
the  1^  minoUs  throughout  the  world,  "the  stars  with  deep  an-aze, 
stand  find  with  steadfast  gan:"  for  this  is,  indeed,  a  Nativity  of  an 
adverM  god  to  the  one  you  profess  to  honoar,  with  th«m,  and  the 
angels,  at  Oiristmas,  by  over-eating  yoursehree.  ,  . 

I  suppo^«  that  is  the  quite  essential  part  of  the  reugion  of  Christ- 
mM:  and,  ^eed,  it  is  ilout  the  most  reliajous  thing  you  do  in  the 
year;  and  ous  people  would  understand,  generally,  that,  if  there 
be  indeed  .y  other  God  than  Mammon,  He  likes  to  see  people  com- 
fortable, and  nketr  diMMd,  as  much  as  MaauiMm  Iftw  to  see  ttiMn 
fasting  and  in  n«F>  <^  ^"^^  ^  *  «nmpk  to  ovwybody 
thaii  uiey  do. 

The  only  serious  disadvantage  of  eating,  and  fine  dressing,  «)n- 
sidered  as  religious  ceremonies,  whether  at  Chnstmas,  or  on  Sunday, 
in  tho  Sunday  dinnv  and  &inday  gown,-HS  that  y6a  don't  alw^r* 


sSa  THE  RELIOION  OF  RUSKIN 

clearly  understand  what  the  eating  and  dressing  signify.  For 
example:  why  should  Sunday  be  kept  otherwise  than  Christmaa, 
and  be  less  merry?  Because  it  is  a  day  of  rest,  commemorating 
the  fulfillment  of  God's  easy  work,  while  Christmas  is  a  day  of  toil, 
commemorating  the  beginning  of  his  difficult  work?  Is  that  the 
reason?  Or  because  Christmas  commemorates  His  stooping  to 
thirty  years  of  sorrow,  and  Sunday  His  rising  to  ooontlesB  yean  of 
joy?  v^hich  should  be  the  gladdest  day  of  the  two,  think  you, 
on  either  ground?— £e»er  24. 

MANSIONS  IN  "my  FATHEB's  noWB." 

"If  it  were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you." 

I  read  those  strange  words  of  St.  John's  gospel  this  morning, 
for  at  least  the  thousandth  time;  and  for  the  &tst  time,  that  l 
remember,  with  any  attention.  It  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to 
attend  rightly  without  some  definite  motive,  or  chance-help,  to 
words  which  one  haa  read  and  re-read  till  every  one  of  them  slips 
into  its  place  unnoticed,  as  a  familiar  goest, — ondu^enged  as  a 
household  friend.    .    .  . 

Alas,  had  He  but  told  us  more  clearly  that  it  was  sol 

I  have  the  ijrofoundest  sympathy  with  St.  Thomas,  and  would 
fain  put  all  his  questions  over  again,  and  twice  as  many  more. 
"We  know  not  whither  Thou  goest."  That  Father's  house, — 
where  is  it?  These  "remaining-places,"  how  are  they  to  be  pre- 
pared for  us? — how  are  we  to  be  prepared  for  them? 

If  ever  your  clergy  mean  really  to  help  you  to  read  your  Bible, — 
the  whole  of  it,  and  not  merely  the  bits  which  tell  you  that  you  are 
miserable  sinners,  and  that  you  needn't  mind, — they  must  make  a 
translation  retaining  as  many  as  possible  of  the  words  in  their 
Greek  form,  which  jtm  may  easily  learn,  and  yet  which  will  be 

auit  of  the  danger  of  becoming  dcMsed  b^  any  vulgar  English  use. 
o  also,  the  same  word  must  always  be  given  when  it  it  the  same; 
and  not  in  one  place,  translated  "mansion,"  and  in  another 
"Aod»J*— Letter  g? 

"bvsky  max  to  Hn  ow»." 

I  was  again  stopped  by  a  verse  in  St.  John's  gospel  this  morning, 
not  because  I  had  not  thought  of  it  before,  often  enough;  but  be- 
cause it  bears  much  on  our  immediate  business  in  one  of  its  ex- 
pressions,— "Ye  shall  be  scattered,  every  man  to  his  own." 

His  own  what? 

His  own  property,  his  own  rights,  his  own  opinions,  his  own 
place,  I  suppose  one  must  answer?  Every  man  in  his  own  place; 
and  every  man  acting  on  his  own  opinions ;  and  every  man  having 
hia  own  way.  Those  are  somewhat  your  own  notions  of  the  tigjtii- 
est  poMiUa  statt  of  thingi,  an  they  not? 


RSU0I0U8  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  jSj 

And  you  do  not  think  it  ol  any  oooMcpunoe  to  Mk  what  Kot  of 

a  place  your  own  is?  x 

Ab  for  instance,  taking  the  reference  farther  on,  to  the  one  ol 
Christ's  followers  who  that  night  most  diatmctly  of  all  that  wer« 
6cattered,  found  his  place,  anrstayed  in 

Apostleship,  from  which  Judas  by  transgresMon  fell,  that  he  nught 

go  to  hia  own  place."  What  sort  of  a  place?  .  ^ 

It  should  interest  you,  surely,  to  ask  of  such  thmgs,  smce  yoa  a", 
whether  you  like  them  or  not,  have  your  own  places;  and  wnetner 
you  know  them  or  not,  your  own  opinions.  It  is  too  true  tnat  very 
often  you  fancy  you  think  one  thing,  when  in  reality,  you  think 
Quite  another.  Most  Christian  persons,  for  instance,  fancy  they 
would  like  to  be  in  heaven.  But  tSiat  ia  not  t^e«  «al  opinion  ^^^^ 
place  at  all.  See  how  grave  they  wi  J  look,  if  their  doctor  hmts  to 
hum  that  there  is  the  leart  ptobabiUty  of  their  soon  going  there. 

I  said,  that  we  would  'especially' reverence  eight  saints,  and  among 
them  St  Paul.   I  was  startled  to  hear,  only  a  few  days  afterwards 
that  the  German  critics  have  at  last  P<«.iti;«l? 
Paul  was  Simon  Maeus;— but  I  don't  mmd  whether  he  was  not,— 
if  he  WM  we  have  gotVeVen  saints  and  one  of  the  Magi,  to  reverent, 
nstead  of  eLht  safnts  ;-plainly  and  practically,  whoever  wrote  ^e 
isiiiof  1st  (^rinthians  is  to  be  much  respected  and  atte^Jf  ^t^/.^J* 
isSe  teacher  of  salvation  by  faith,  still  less  of  salvation  by  tajl^nf ' 
nor  even  of  salvation  by  almjrivmg  or  martyrdom  but  as  the  boM 
desniser  of  faith,  talk-g  ft,  and  burning,  if  one  has  not  love.  Where- 
STS^e  of  ours  is  so  far  contrary  to  any  such  Pauline  doctrine 
^Sut^Jecial  talent  either  /or  faith  or  ^a'tyrdo'n  and  lo- 
^ci^s  usually^ather  with  the  tongues  of  men  ^  of  an^^t 
Severtheless  thinks  to  get  on,  n«t  merely  without  love  of  its  nei^- 
C;  but  founding  all  its  proceedings  on  the  precise  contrary  of  that, 
-love  of  its  self,  and  the  seeking  of  every  man  for  his  own.— 
Letter  S8. 

GOLD  PREFERRED  TO  GOD. 

as  I  promised,  tie  fourle.olh       afte«th  ftdiM 
'''^'^'t^^^C^S'-^i'"'  .h..  of  U»  obfldr-. 

•'Sfi?^'^ror5:2:^i|£tg- 

eratiou  of  the  righteous.   7»  them,  observe;  not  needmg  to  do 
whiTstatements,  evangelical  persons  e«iehide  A-t  ihei. 
•re  no  rii^iteons  pononf  at  tSL 


S84  THE  RELIGION  OF  RV8KIN 

A^va,  the  fourth  verse  of  the  Psalm  declaret  that  all  tht  wotkm 
of  iniquity  eat  up  Ood's  people  as  they  eat  bread. 


Apain,  the  first  verse  of  the  Psalm  declares  that  the  fool  hath  laid 
in  hu  heart  there  is  no  God;  but  the  sixth  verse  declares  of  the  wtat 
that  he  not  only  knows  tiiere  is  a  God,  but  finds  Him  to  be  a  renl^[e. 

Whereupon  evangelical  persons  conclude  that  the  fool  and  the 
poor  mean  the  same  people;  and  make  all  the  haste  they  can  to  be 
rich. 

Putting  them,  and  their  interpretations,  out  of  our  way,  the  Psalm 
b  comes  entirely  axplicit.  There  have  been  in  all  ages  children  of 
God  and  of  man:  the  one  born  of  the  Spirit  and  obeying  it;  the 
other  bom  of  the  flesh,  and  obeying  it  I  don't  know  how  that  en- 
tirely unintelligible  sentence,  "There  were  they  in  great  fear,"  got 
into  our  English  Psalm ;  in  both  the  Greek  and  Latin  versions  it  is, 
"God  hath  broken  the  bones  of  those  that  please  men." 

And  it  is  here  said  of  the  entire  body  of  the  children  of  men,  at  a 
pariicalar  time,  that  they  had  at  that  time  all  gone  astray  beyond 
hope;  that  none  were  left  who  so  much  as  sought  God,  much  less 
who  were  likely  to  find  Him ;  and  that  these  wretches  and  vagabond 
were  eating  up  God's  own  people  as  they  ate  bread. 

Which  has  indeed  been  generally  so  in  all  ages:  but  beyond  all 
recorded  history  is  so  in  ours.  Just  and  godly  people  can't  live;  and 
every  clever  rogue  and  industrious  fool  is  mucmg  his  fortune  out  of 
them,  and  producing  abominable  works  of  all  sorts  besides, — ma- 
terial gasometers,  furnaces,  chemical  works,  and  the  like, — with 
spiritual  lies  and  lasciviousnesses  unheard  of  till  now  in  Christen- 
dom. Which  plain  and  disagreeable  meaning  of  this  portion  of 
Scripture  you  will  find  pious  people  universally  reject  with  abhop> 
xrac^, — the  direct  word  and  open  face  of  their  Master  being,  in  the 
present  day,  always  by  them,  far  mofe  than  His  othu  vi^min, 
"spitefully  entreated,  and  spitted  on." 

Next  for  the  t5th  Psalm. 

It  begins  by  asking  God  who  shall  abide  in  His  tabernacle,  or 
movable  tavern ;  and  who  shall  dwell  in  Hb  holy  hill.  Note  the 
difFerence  of  those  two  abidinn.  A  tavmi,  or  tabema,  is  originally 
a  hut  made  by  a  trarjllur,  of  sticks  cut  on  the  spot;  then,  if  he  so 
arrange  it  as  to  be  portabliv  it  is  a  tabernacle;  so  that,  generally,  a 
portable  hut  or  house,  suppo-ted  by  rods  or  sticks  when  it  is  set  up, 
IS  a  tabernacle ; — on  a  large  scale,  having  boards  as  well  as  curtains, 
and  capable  of  much  stateliness,  but  nearly  synonymous  with  a  tent, 
m  Latin. 

Therefore,  the  first  question  is.  Who  among  travellins  men  will 
Iiave  God  set  up  hk  tavern  for  him  when  he  wants  rest? 
And  the  seoond  qoertkm  i«.  Who-  ot  travdling  man,  dkaU  finally 


RELI0I0U8  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  3*5 

dwell,  deBiring  to  wander  no  monL,  in  God'i  own  hooM,  eitaUuhfld 
above  the  hilb,  where  all  nations  flow  to  itT 

You,  perhaps,  don't  believe  that  either  of  these  abodes  may,  or  do, 
exist  in  reality :  nor  that  God  would  ever  cut  down  branches  for  you : 
or,  better  itill  bid  them  spring  up  for  a  boww;  or  that  He  would 
like  to  see  you  in  His  own  house,  if  you  would  go  there.  You  pre- 
fer the  bmldingB  lately  put  up  in  rows  for  you  "one  brick  thick 
in  the  walls,"  in  convenient  neighborhood  to  your  pleasant  buaineas? 
Be  it  so ;— then  the  fifteenth  Psalm  has  nothing  to  say  to  you.  For 
those  who  care  to  lodge  with  God,  these  following  an  tb«  oonditioni 
of  character: 

They  are  to  walk  or  deal  uprightly  with  men.  They  are  to  work 
or  do  justice;  or,  in  sum,  do  the  best  they  can  with  their  hands. 
They  are  to  speak  the  truth  to  their  own  hearts,  and  see  they  do 
not  persuade  themselves  they  are  honest  when  they  ought  to  know 
themselves  to  be  knaves ;  nor  persuade  themselves  they  are  charitable 
end  kind,  when  they  ought  to  know  themselves  to  be  thieves  and 
murderers.  They  are  not  to  bite  people  with  their  tongues  behind 
their  backs,  if  they  dare  not  rebuke  them  face  to  face.  They  are 
not  to  take  up,  or  catch  at,  subjects  of  blame;  but  they  are  utterly 
end  absolutely  to  despise  vile  persons  who  fear  no  God,  and  think 
the  world  was  begot  by  mud,  and  is  fed  by  money;  end  they  are  not 
to  defend  a  guilty  man's  cause  against  an  innocent  one.  Above  all, 
this  last  verse  is  written  for  lawyers,  or  professed  interpreters  of  jus- 
tice, who  are  of  all  men  most  villainous,  if,  knowingly,  they  toke 
reward  against  an  innocent  or  rightfully  contending  person.  And 
on  these  conditions  the  promise  of  God's  presence  and  strength  is 
finally  given.  He  that  doeth  thus  shall  not  be  moved,  or  shaken: 
for  him,  tabernacle  and  rock  are  alike  safe:  no  wind  shall  OYer* 
throw  them,  nor  earthquake  rend. 

That  is  the  meaning  of  the  fourtec  '  i  and  fifteenth  Psalms;  and 
if  you  so  believe  them,  and  obey  theiu,  you  will  find  your  account 
in  it.  And  they  are  the  Word  of  God  to  you,  so  far  as  you  have 
heuts  capable  of  understanding  them,  or  any  other  such  message 
brone^t  by  His  servants.  But  if  your  heart  is  dishonest  and  re- 
bellious, you  may  read  them  {<a  ever  wiUi  lip  lunct,  and  all  the 
while  be  "men-pleasers,"  whose  bones  are  to  be  brdbn  at  the  pit's 
mouth,  and  so  left  incapaUe  of  bnttfl,  farao^t  hf  any  winds  <rf 
Heaven. — Letter  S6. 

THS  BOOK  OV  QWffBU. 

I  am  a  simpleton,  am  I,  to  quote  such  an  exploded  book  as  Gen- 
esis? My  good  wiseacre  readers,  I  know  as  many  flaws  in  the  book 
of  Genesis  as  the  best  of  you,  but  I  knew  the  book  before  I  knew  its 
flaws,  while  you  Imow  the  flaws,  and  never  have  known  the  book, 
nor  can  know  it.  And  it  is  at  present  mxaSk  Q»  worn  for  you ;  for 
indeed  the  stories  of  this  bode  of  Geneaii  have  been  the  nursery 


j86  TEE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

tales  of  men  mightiest  whom  the  world  has  yet  seen  in  art,  and 
policy,  and  virtue,  and  none  of  you  will  write  better  stories  for  your 
children,  yet  awhile.  And  your  little  Cains  will  learn  quickly 
enough  to  ask  if  they  are  their  brother's  keepers,  and  your  little 
Fathera  of  Canaan  merrily  enough  to  show  tiieir  own  father's  naked- 
ness without  diead  either  of  banishment  or  malediction ;  but  many 
a  day  will  pass,  and  their  evil  generations  vanish  with  it,  in  that 
sudden  nothingness  of  the  wicked,  "He  passed  away,  and  lo,  he 
was  not,"  before  one  will  again  rise,  of  whase  death  there  may  re- 
main the  Divine  tradition,  "He  walked  with  God,  and  ws  not,  for 
God  took  him."  Apotheosis  I  How  the  dim  hope  of  it  haunts  even 
the  last  degradation  of  men;  and  through  the  six  thousand  years 
from  Enoeb,  and  the  vague  Greek  ages  which  dreamed  of  their 
twin-hero  stars,  declines,  in  this  final  stage  of  civilization,  into  de- 
pendence on  the  sweet  promise  of  the  Anglo-Russian  tempter,  with 
his  ermine  tail,  "Ye  shall  be  as  Gods,  and  buy  cat-skin  cheap." — 
Letter  U- 

THE  GENESIS  ORDER  OF  WORK. 

Neither  almsgiving  nor  praying,  therefore,  nor  psalm-singing,  nor 
even— as  poor  livingstone  thought,  to  his  own  death,  and  our  bitter 
loss, — discovering  the  mountains  of  the  Moon,  have  anything  to  do 
with  "good  work,"  or  God's  work.  But  it  is  not  so  very  difficnlt  to 
discover  what  that  work  is.  You  keep  the  Sabbath,  in  imitation 
of  God's  rest.  •  •• 
also  the  rest 


i.  Do,  by  all  manner  of  means,  if  you  like;  and  keep 
of  the  week  in  imitation  of  God's  work. 


Day  First.— The  Making,  or  letting  in,  of  Light. 

Day  Second. — The  Discipline  and  Firmament  of  Waten. 

Day  Third. — ^The  Separation  of  earth  from  water,  and  planting 

the  secure  earth  with  trees. 
Day  Fourth.— The  Establishment  of  times  and  seasons,  and  of  the 

authority  of  the  stars. 
Day  Fifth. — Filling  the  water  and  air  with  fish  and  birds. 
Daig  8%xth.—Fming  the  land  with  beasts;  and  putting  dmne 

life  into  the  clay  of  one  of  Uiese,  that  it  may 

have  authority  over  the  others,  and  over  the  leit 

of  the  Creation. 

So  the  good  human  work  may  properly  divide  itself  into  the  same 
SIX  branchM;  and  will  be  a  prfectly  literal  and  practical  following 
out  of  the  Dmne;  and  will  have  opposed  to  it  a  correspondent  Diap 
bohc  force  of  eternally  bad  work— as  much  worse  than  idkBMI  or 
death,  as  good  work  is  better  than  idleness  or  death. 

Good  work,  then,  will  be, — 

A.  Lettmg  in  li|^t  where  thm  wu  dukneM;  m  eqwcialfy  ii^ 


RSUQIOUS  LE^SS  nr  POUTIOAh  ECONOMY  ^ 

poor  rooms  and  back  streets ;  and  generally  guiding  and  adimniatei>» 
ing  the  sonahine  wherever  we  can,  by  all  the  means  in  our  power. 
And  the  oorreq)ond«it  Diabolie  wmk  Is  pntting  a  tax  on  winr 

dows,  and  blocking  out  the  sun's  light  with  smoke. 

B.  Disciplining  the  falling  waters.  In  the  Divine  work,  this  is 
the  ordinance  of  clouds  in  the  human,  it  is  properly  putting  the 
clouds  to  service;  and  first  stopping  the  rain  where  they  carry  it 
from  the  sea,  and  then  keeping  it  pure  as  it  goes  back  to  the  sea 
again. 

And  the  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  the  arrangement  of  land 
eo  as  to  throw  all  the  water  back  to  the  sea  as  last  as  m  «an;  and 

putting  every  sort  of  filth  into  the  stream  as  it  runs. 

c.  The  separation  of  earth  from  water,  and  planting  it  with  trees. 
The  correspondent  human  vodc  is  mptdtJlj  CMudng  manaies,  and 
planting  desert  ground. 

The  GorrespondMit  Diabolie  woric  is  taming  sood  heA  mi  water 
into  mud;  and  entting  down  tnes  that  we  may  ^rive  steam  ^aa|^ 
etc.,  etc. 

D.  The  establishment  of  times  and  seasons.  The  correspondent 
human  work  is  a  due  watching  of  the  rise  and  set  of  stars,  and  course 
of  the  sun;  and  due  administration  and  forethought  of  our  own  an- 
nual labours,  preparing  for  them  in  hope,  and  concluding  them  in 
joyfulness,  according  to  the  laws  and  gifts  of  Heaven.  Which  beau* 
tiful  order  is  set  forth  in  symbols  on  all  lordlv  human  buildings 
round  the  semi-circular  arehss  wliich  are  types  of  the  rise  and  fall  of 
di^  and  years. 

And  the  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  turning  night  into  day 
with  candles,  so  that  we  never  see  the  stars;  and  mudng  the  seasons 
up  one  with  another,  and  hvfing  eaiiy  itHiwbenisa,  aai  freea 
pease  and  the  like. 

B.  Filling  the  waters  with  fish,  and  ur  with  birds.  The  oorre> 
spondent  human  work  is  Mr.  Frank  Buckland's,  and  the  like. 

The  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  poisoning  fish  as  is  done  at 
Goniston  with  copper-mining  and  catching  them  for  fashionable  din- 
new,  whmthsyeqi^  not  to  be  eaoi^;  Mid  treating  lards  aalards 
we  treated. 

'  F.  Filling  the  earth  with  beasts,  properly  known  and  cani  far 
tqr  thsir  miartsr^  Ifan;  but  chiefly,  breathing  into  tin  d^^ey  sod 
tiralil  mtae  or  Man  himsslf,  toe  floni,  or  unv,  of  Ckid. 
^  The  correspondent  Diabolic  work  is  shooting  and  tormenting 
.beasts:  and  grinding  out  the  soul  of  man  from  his  flesh,  with  ma- 
fmiBit  Hwur;  awl  tUn  griiiiiing  oown  me  bh>  os  nun,  wbbb  noHr 


i 


TEE  MMUmON  OF  KUOOB 


inf  «Im  u  left,  into  clay,  with  nuushinei  lor  ttat 
knsM,  WiMlwieh  infuita,  and  th*  lika.  _ 
Thaaa  an  tha  fix  main  beads  «f  Ood'i  and  tba  Daril'b 

▲  CHBI8TMA8  HOXILT. 

''Stand  fhfliMfna;  hsving  your  Idns  girt  about  with  Trath." 
That  means,  that  the  strcogtti  of  jaw  backbone  dapuida  on  ywir 
meaning  to  do  true  battle. 

"And  having  on  the  breastplate  of  Jnatiee." 

That  means,  there  are  to  be  no  partialities  in  your  heart,  of  anger 
or  pity;— but  you  must  only  in  justice  kill,  and  only  in  justice  keep 
•Ihra. 

"And  your  feet  shod  with  the  preparation  of  the  gospel  of  Peace." 

That  means  that  where  your  foot  pauses,  moves,  or  entoiL  there 
shall  be  peace;  and  when  yon  ean  only  sliaka  tha  AmI  of  it  mi 
tha  thieahold,  mourning. 

"Above  all,  take  the  shield  of  Faith." 

Of  fidelity  or  obedience  to  your  captain,  showing  his  bearings, 
argent,  a  cross  gules;  your  safety,  and  all  ihe  army's,  being  first  In 
the  obedience  of  faith:  and  all  casting  of  spears  vain  a^unst  such 
faaidad  phahmr, 

"And  take  the  helmet  of  Salvation.** 

Elsewhere,  the  Aope  of  salvation,  that  being  the  defense  of  yaax 
intelleet  against  base  and  sad  thoughts,  aa  the  shield  of  flddity  il 
die  defense  of  your  heart  against  burning  and  consuming  passions, 

"And  the  sword  of  the  Spirit,  which  is  the  Wwd  of  God.** 
That  being  your  weapon  of  war, — ^your  power  of  action,  w! 
with  sword  or  ploughshare;  according  to  the  sajring  of  St.  John  of 
the  young  soldiers  of  Christ,  "I  have  written  unto  you,  young  men, 
because  ye  Are  strong,  and  the  Word  of  God  i\bideth  '  ou."  The 
Word  by  which  Uie  heavens  were  of  old ;  and  whidi,  b  :  :  noe  only 
Breath,  Mcame  in  man  Fladi,  "quickening  L  /  the  4>  into  the 
life  which  is,  and  is  to  come;  and  ending  '  lor  all '  :  wciks  nob^ 
done  by  the  quick,  and  following  the  dead. — Letter  :  ? 

XABLY  TBACHIKO  OW  THB  BCRIFTUSX8. 

It  makes  me  feel,  more  than  anything  I  cer  yet  met  with  in 
human  wwdi,  how  mudi  I  ow<  to  my  mother  for  having  so  ezerdsed 
me  in  the  Senptues  aa  to  make  me  grasp  them  in  what  my  corre- 
spondent would  call  their  "concrete  whole;"  and  above  i^trafpl 
me  to  reverence  them,  as  transcending  all  thon^it,  and  Momn^ 


^MEUQIOUa  LEaSONS  IM  fOUTtCAL  ECONOMY  5li 

This  she  effected,  not  by  her  own  sayingi  or  penonal  authority, 
bat  limply  by  compelling  me  to  read  the  book  tboronghly,  for  my- 
self.  As  soon  aa  I  was  abto  to  read  with  flueney,  she  beflgain  «  coarse 
of  BiUe  work  with  mo^  which  never  ceased  till  I  went  to  Oxford. 
iBht  lead  altemate  ymm  with  m>,  watching,  at  first,  every  intona- 
tion of  my  Toiee,  and  ebmoting  the  false  ones,  till  she  made  ma 
ondantand  tin  ntm,  if  widiin  my  reach,  ri^tly,  and  itMtgetioBlly. 
It  might  be  beyond  me  altogether;  that  she  did  not  care  aboat;  bat 
the  made  sure  ttiat  as  soon  as  I  got  hold  of  it  at  all,  I  shoald  get  hold* 
of  it  by  the  right  end. 

In  this  way  she  began  with  the  first  verse  of  Genesis,  and  went 
straight  through  to  the  last  verse  of  the  ApMltftm;  hard  names, 
numbers,  Levitieal  law,  and  all;  and  bMaa  i«aiii  at  Genesis  the  next 
day;  if  a  name  was  hard,  tba  batter  ue  emete  in  pronunciation, 
— u  a  chapter  was  tiresome,  the  better  lesson  in  patience, — ^if  loath- 
aome,  the  Mtter  lesson  in  faith  that  there  was  wme  use  in  Its  being 
ao  outspoken.  After  our  dusters  I  had  to  learn  a  few  verses  by 
heart,  «r  npe^  to  make  sofa  I  had  not  lost,  something  of  what  waa 
aheady  known;  and,  I  had  to  km  tiia  whdia  body  of  the  fina  old 
Soottidi  paraphrases,  which  are  good,  melodious,  and  forceful  versa; 
and  to  which,  togettier  with  the  Bible  itself,  I  owe  the  first  cultiva- 
tion of  my  ear  in  sound.  It  is  strange  that  of  all  the  pieces  of  the 
KUe  whkb  my  mother  thus  taught  me,  that  iriiioh  cost  me  moat 
to  learn,  and  idiidi  was,  to  my  ddld's  mhid,  diiafly  repnlsiva 
the  119tfi  Psalm— has  now  become  of  all  the  most  precious  to  me, 
in  its  overflowing  and  glorious  passion  of  love  for  the  Law  of  Gk>d: 
"Oh,  how  love  I  Tbj  fanrl  itia  my  meditation  all  the  day;  I  have  ra> 
f imined  my  fail  fkom  mmj  tvil  wagr»  that  I  mi^  keep  Thjr  wwd." 
Letter  SS. 

TBM  nALMB  AS  USB)  IK  TSB  ■PUCOPAZ.  ROmCK. 

Tlw  Pmblea  have  flieir  living  use,  ai  wen  as  their  danger ;  but  tha 
Flsalter  hM  become  practically  dead ;  and  the  form  of  repeating  it  in 
the  daily  service  only  deadens  the  phrases  of  it  by  familiarity.  I 
have  occasion  today  to  dwell  on  another  piece  of  this  writing  the 
father  of  (Arfat,— which,  read  in  its  full  meaning,  will  ba  as  new  to 
ns  as  the  firrt^naid  song  <rf  a  torrign  land. 

I  translate  literally ;  the  8eptaagint  confirming  the  Vulgate  in  tha 
differances  fimn  oar  common  rendering,  several  of  idiidi  are  im- 


"1.  tl^  Laid,  <Mtt  tnn  Lord,  IwNf  aAMfaiMt^ii  Iby  Mum  ife  di 
the  earUi! 


flqr 


ia  ail  above  tta 


3»9  TSM  SEUaiO»  or  BUSKIN 

i.  Out  of  the  month  of  children  and  racklingi  thon  hail  par* 
faeted  piaiaa,  becaoie  of  thine  enemiea,  that  thoa  mi^^ 


lht«Majaiid 

4  Onoe  I  see  thy  heavens,  the  work  of  thT  ll9fM%  Oa  Bioaa 
and  the  stars  which  thou  haat  founded. 

6.  ^Hiat  if  man  that  thoa  remambml  him,  or  ^  icm  of  mail,  , 

that  thoa  lookast  on  him? 

0,  Thoa  halt  lessened  him  a  little  from  tha  angab;  thoa  haa| 
crowned  him  with  glory  and  honour,  and  halt  Nt  him  Ofit 
•U  tha  voiIei  oI  thy  hands. 

7.  Thou  hast  put  all  things  under  his  fial;  diaap,  and  all  «aiB 

— «nd  the  flocks  of  the  plain. 

8.  The  birds  of  tha  heavan  andthafldiofthasaa,aada]t 

thitvaUc  in  the  paths  of  the  sea. 

Oh  Lord,  oar  own  Lord,  how  admiraWa  k  thy  Kama  in  all 

the  earth  1" 

Note  in  Verses  1  and  9. — ^Domine,  Dominoa  noatn,  oar  e«n»  Lofd; 
Kvpu,  o  K«ptot  fifuf;  claiming  thus  the  Fatherhood.  The  "Lord  our 
Govemour"  of  the  Prayer  Book  entirely  loses  the  meanmg.  H<m 
mdndrabU  is  Thy  Name  I  fcv^uxmN',  "wonderful,"  as  m  Isaiah, 
"His  name  shall  be  called  Wonderful,  the  Counsellor."  Again*-" 
translation  "excellent"  loses  the  meaning. 

Verse  2.— Thy  magnificence.  Litarally,  "thy  gwftness  m  % 
ing"  (Gk.  fwyaJu.jpc««Hi— sploidoar  in  aqteot),  disUngnMioft  ^.  ut 
mere  "glory"  or  greatness  in  Iibm. 

Verse  3. — Sidney  has  it: 

Tram  rad:Ungi  fcatk  thy  toooar  apfuns. 


The  meanLig  of  this  difficult  verse  is  pven  by  implication  in  Matt. 
xxi.  16.  And  again,  that  verse,  like  all  the  otbw  great  teachmgs 
of  CSuist,  is  open  to  a  terrific  misinterpretation namely,  the  popu- 
lar eTangelical  one,  that  children  should  be  teachers  and  preachen, 

 ("cheering  mother,  cheerine  father,  from  the  Bible  true' ).  Tha 

lovely  meaning  of  the  words  of  Christ,  which  this  vila  «ror  hides,  is 
that  children,  rematntn^  children,  and  uttering,  out  of  UMir  own 
hearts,  such  things  as  their  Makw  pots  then,  are  pan  hi  ati^  and 

perfect  in  praise.  ....      ^  _x  »     j  j 

Verse  4.— The  moon  and  the  stars  which  thou  hast  founded-- 
"fundasti"  tfowA-w.  It  is  much  more  than  "ordained";  the 
idea  of  rtaUe  pUeing  in  q)aoe  being  the  main  one  in  IHvids  mmd. 
And  it  remuns  to  t&  day  tha  wondn  ol  wondan  in  an  VIM  man  i 


RELIGIOUS  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  391 

minds.  The  earth  swingi  round  the  sun^ — yes.  bat  what  hoUb  the 
iun?  The  Mm  fwiap  leaad  momIUm  MM.  BtitiOh  ft«bniwt 
tker 

Sidney: — 

"WbtB  I  vpoo  tlM  >isw  do  leek, 
Wkiek  «U  tnm  thm  tMr  mmdm  took. 

Verae  5. — That  thou  lookest  on  him ;  ctwuhui  smw,  "art  a  bidum 
to  him."  The  Gieek  woid  is  the  laiiM  in  the  f«w  1  was  M(  tad  ft 

viiiUd  me." 

Verse  6. — ^Thou  hast  lessened  him; — ^perhaps  better,  thou  hast 
made  him  but  bv  a  little,  less,  than  the  angels;  ^AMrrMMw  mrw 
Ppavu  n.  The  infttkri^  is  not  <tf  pweent  poanon  BMitljr,  b«k  ef 
scale  in  being. 

Vexse  7. — Sheep,  and  all  oxen,  and  the  floekt  of  the  plain: 
vev  eiliiu.  Beasts  tar  scrvke  in  Um  plain,  trvraning  giaai  agaam 
I  wmi]  and  hnie.— LeMsr  8S. 


WBONO  USB  OF  THE  PAKABLM. 

Why  prayer  should  be  taught  by  the  story  of  the  unjust  judge; 
use  of  present  opportunity  by  that  of  the  unjust  steward;  and  use  of 
the  gifts  of  Ood  b^  that  of  we  hard  man  who  reaped  where  he  had 
not  sown, — there  u  no  human  creature  wise  enough  to  know; — hut 
tiiere  are  the  traps  set;  and  every  slack  judge,  chyting  mmalk,  and 
gnawing  usurer  mav,  if  he  will,  approve  hmtsdf  in  these. 

"Thou  knewest  that  I  was  a  hard  man."  Yes — and  if  God  were 
also  a  hard  God,  and  reaped  where  jETe  had  not  sown — the  conclusion 
would  be  true  that  earthly  uaniy  was  But         of  Gotfa 

gifts  to  us  are  not  His  own? 

The  meaning  of  the  parable,  heaid  with  ean  unbesotted,  is  this: 
— "Fei^  wMmg  hard  and  unjust  umd,  yet  sa£Fer  their  daim  to  the 
xatom  of  what  they  never  gave;  yon  smnr  them  to  reap  whoe  thej 
have  not  strewed. — ^But  to  me,  the  Just  Lord  of  your  life — ^whoee  is 
the  breath  in  your  nostrils,  whose  the  fire  in  your  blood,  who  gave 
you  lig^t  and  thought,  and  the  fruit  of  earth  and  the  dew  of  heaven, 
—to  me,  of  ell  this  gif^  will  you  return  no  fruit  but  o^  the  doit 
of  fo«  oofiH,  and  Urn  wttA  «f  year  aaidif*  Ltthr  99, 

OBIOnENCB  KSSENTIAL  TO  A  KNOWUtOCnt  OV  OOD. 

Whatever  chemical  or  anatomical  facts  may  appear  to  our  preanl 
ecientifie  inteUigenoes,  inconsistent  with  the  Life  of  God,  tlM  hie< 
torical  fact  is  that  no  hajipiness  nor  power  has  ever  been  attained  by 
human  creatures  unless  in  that  thint  for  the  presence  of  a  Divine 
King;  and  that  notldng  but  weakness,  misery,  and  death  have  ever 


S9t  THE  RELIGION  OF  RU8KIN 

XMoUid  from  tiM  danra  to  dMtroy  their  King,  end  to  luTt  thiotw 
•BdimudamxdiMedtotheininitMtd.  AIm  thii  fact  ii  hiiloriMUy 
eertun,— that  the  Life  of  Ood  ia  not  to  be  diacovered  by  fwaoniiifc 
bat  by  obeying;  that  on  doing  what  ia  plainly  ordered,  the  imdom 
and  preaence  of  the  Orderer  become  manifest  ;  that  only  ao  Hia  way 
ean  be  known  on  earth,  and  Hia  Mving  health  among  all  national 
•nd  that  on  diaobedianoa  alwqra  foUowt  dackMHb  tha  lonraniMr  cf 
doattt 

And  now  for  corollary  on  the  eighth  Paalm,  read  the  first  and 
geeond  of  Hebrews,  and  to  the  twelfth  ytnt  of  the  third,  •wwly; 
fitting  the  verse  of  the  psalm— "lunam  et  atellaa  qua  tu  fundaati, 
with  "Thou,  Lord,  in  the  beginning  hast  laid  the  foundations  of 
the  earth";  and  then  noting  how  the  subjection  which  is  merely, 
of  the  lower  creatures,  in  the  psalm,  becomes  the  subjection  of  all 
«hiD0.  and  at  laat  of  death  itself,  in  the  victory  foretold  to  those 
tdio  are  faithful  to  their  Captain,  made  perfect  through  suffer- 
ings; their  Faith,  observe,  consisting  primarily  in  closra  and  more 
constant  obeJience  than  the  Mosaic  law  required,— 'For  if  the 
word  spoken  by  angels  was  steadfast,  and  every  tranMPession  and 
diaobedience  received  its  just  recomppnce  of  reward,  how  shaU  w« 
escape,  if  we  neglect  so  great  salvation!"  The  full  argument  is: 
"Mmm,  with  but  a  little  salvation,  saved  you  from  earthly  bondage, 
•nd  brought  you  to  an  earthly  land  of  life;  Christ,  with  a  great 
ealvation,  saves  you  from  soul  bondMe.  and  Inriiigi  you  to  an  eternal 
land  of  life;  but,  if  he  who  despised  the  little  aaWation,  and  its  1« 
law,  (left  lax  because  of  the  hardness  of  your  hearts),  died  with- 
out mercy,  how  shall  we  escape,  if  now,  with  hearts  jf  Pesh,  we 
despise  so  great  salvation,  refuse  the  Eternal.  Land  of  Promise,  and 
Ineak  the  atrieter  and  reUudess  law  of  Christian  desert-pilgnmage? 
And  if  iheaa  thiwtenings  and  promises  still  remain  obscure  to  us,  it 
is  only  because  we  have  resolutely  refused  to  obey  the  ordws  which 
were  not  obscure,  and  quenched  the  Spirit  which  waa  •beady  given. 
How  far  the  world  around  ua  may  be  yet  beyond  our  oraitrol,  only 
because  a  curse  haa  been  brought  upon  it  by  our  sloth  and  mfidelity, 
none  of  us  can  tell;  still  less  may  we  dare  either  to  pra«e  or  accuse 
oar  Master,  for  the  state  of  the  creation  over  which  He  appointed 
«  kinn.  and  in  which  we  have  chosen  to  live  as  swme.  f^ae  thing 
we  know,  or  may  know,  if  we  wiU,— that  the  heart  and  conscience 
of  man  are  divine:  that  in  hia  pero^tion  of  evil,  in  hia  recognition 
of  good,  he  ia  himself  a  God  manifest  in  the  flesh  |  that  hia  joy  m 
love,  his  agony  in  anger,  his  indignation  at  injustice,  his  glory  m 
adf-sacrifice,  are  all  eternal,  indisputable  proofs  of  his  uni^  with  a 
.  ami  Spiritual  Head;  that  in  these,  and  not  merely  m  his  more 
•vriUng  form,  or  manifold  instinct,  he  is  king  over  ttie  lower  ani- 
mat*  world;  that,  ao  far  as  he  daniaa  or  forfdta  theaCk  he^»oiuran 
Am  Name  of  his  TaOnu,  and  aaakM  il  vaMf  aad  wtAninbto  la 


RELIOIOVS  LESSOVa  IN  POLITKAL  WOOVOMY  39S 

the  earth ;  that  ao  far  as  he  oonf etses,  and  rules  by,  these,  he  haUows 
and  makes  admirable  the  Name  of  his  Father,  and  reoeivee,  in  hk 
Bonship,  fulness  of  pover  with  Him,  whose  are  the  Minton,  (te 
powtr,tiidthtgloqr,tMitl4irHh«alr  '    •  -  — 


DOIKO  ACCOBDIKQ  TO  COnOXBIOI. 

It  has  been  a  preraknt  notimi  in  th«  miiidi  «f  mOF^sDcaed  p«V> 
sons,  that  if  they  acted  aoeofding  to  tbair  ova  oonwhac^  tMgr  ani^ 

therefore,  be  domg  right. 

But  they  assume,  m  feeling  or  asserting  this,  either  that  there 
is  no  Law  of  God,  or  that  it  cannot  be  known;  but  only  felt,  or  oon- 
jeetored. 

"I  most  do  what  /  think  ri^t"  How  (rften  is  this  aentanes  nt* 
tered  and  acted  on— bravely— noUy—innocoitiT;  bat  always-^ 

cause  of  its  egotism^ — erringly.  You  must  not  do  what  you  think 
right,  but,  whether  you  or  anybody  think,  or  don't  think  it,  what 
is  right. 

"I  most  act  according  to  the  dictates  of  xcn  consdanca.** 

By  no  means,  mT  oonscientioas  frimd,  vbuh  job  an  ^pdlt  ant 

that  you^  is  not  the  conscienoe  of  an  tm. 

"I  am  doing  my  best — ^what  can  man  do  monf 

You  might  be  doing  much  less,  and  yet  much  better: — ^perhaps 
you  are  doing  your  best  in  producing,  or  doing,  an  eternally  bad 
thing. 

All  these  three  nyings,  and  the  convictions  they  eotpreas,  are 
wise  only  in  the  mouths  and  minds  of  wise  men :  they  are  deadly, 
and  all  the  deadlier  beoansebeaiinff  an  imaga  and  npifMi^tioa  of 
virtue,  in  the  moothi  and  sdndi  of  foob. 

"But  th«e  ia  ofaiy  g^atioB,  waiijt  tatwwn  vMom  anA 

No.  The  fool,  irtiatever  his  wit,  is  the  man  who  doesn't  know 
his  master— who  has  said  in  his  heart— there  is  no  God— no  Iaw. 

The  wise  man  knows  his  master.  La*  or  more  wise,  he  perodvee 
lower  or  h^Bther  maaten;  but  alwaya  aona  flnatore  larger  than  him* 
self— some  taw  hdiw  than  his  own.  A  law  to  be  sought— learned, 
loved — obeyed;  but  in  order  to  its  discovery,  the  obedience  moat 
be  begun  first,  to  the  beet  one  knows.  Obey  tofMihing;  and  you 
will  have  a  chance  some  day  of  finding  out  what  ia  best  to  obey. 
But  if  yoa  be^  ^  obeyii^  nothinjE,  ;oa  will  raid  bj  obqring 


BaMttbandaD 


f  II  ill  II 1 


chbibt'b  law  about  xokxt. 
The  law  of  Christ  aboot  menay  and  oflior  forms  <rf  porswial 
wealth,  is  taught,  first  in  parables,  in  which  He  i^Jfl* 
the  masters  of  this  worU^  and  «Bq>lains  tha  conaiiol  wmtm  ^Mommm 


394  THE  RELIGION  OF  RVSKIN 

shoold  hold  (0  Him,  thdr  hMvnlj  MmIv,  bf  whkh  thqr  baU  oa 
«arth,  to  earthly  on«. 

He  likens  hiiiuelf,  in  theae  itoriee,  Mreral  timM,  to  unkind  or  un- 
juat  maiten,  and  especially  to  hard  and  usurioua  ones.  And  the 
gist  of  the  parables  in  each  ease  is,  "If  ye  do  so,  and  are  thus  faith* 
ful  to  harcf  and  cruel  masters,  in  earthly  things,  how  much  more 
■hould  ye  ba  fatthful  to  a  merciful  Miliar,  in  heavenly  things?" 

Whicn  argument,  eYU<«iindid  man  wmt.  ii  thqr  do  um  tte 
other  scriptures,  to  thilr  own  deitraetloo.  And  ImlMd  of  rading^ 
for  instance,  in  the  parable  of  the  Usurer,  the  intended  lesson  of  in- 
dustry in  the  employment  of  God's  gifts,  they  read  in  it  a  justifica- 
tion of  the  crime  which,  in  other  parts  of  the  same  scripture,  is  di- 
lecily  forbidden.  And  there  is  indeed  no  doubt  that,  tf  the  other 
propluitte  parti  of  the  Bible  be  true,  these  stories  are  so  worded  that 
th«7  mey  be  toadulMMi  of  tha  haaft.  They  art  niti,  whidi  lifi 
the  kindW  reader  ftom  the  idfldi.  The  paraUo  of  Oo  Unttir  k 
like  a  mill  sieve  flat  floor  frib  throai^  il,  boltid  fliMr;  ikm 
chaff  sticks  in  it. 

Therefore,  the  only  way  to  understand  these  difficult  parts  of  the 
Bible,  or  even  to  approach  them  with  safety,  ia  fiirt  to  road  and 
obey  the  easy  ones.  Then  the  diffieult  ohm  all  baoooM  bmliftil 
and  dear:— otherwise  thqr  remain  Tmomwi  enigmaa,  with  ft 
£^hinz  of  defection  provoking  falsa  aooli  to  read  tfiim,  and  ndii* 
ins  them  in  their  own  replies. 

Now  the  orders,  "not  to  lav  up  treasure  for  ourselves  on  earth," 
and  to  "sell  that  we  have,  and  give  alms,"  and  to  "provide  ourselves 
bags  which  wax  not  (dd,  are  perfetUy  direct,  unmhtnkable, — ^uni- 
versal ;  and  while  we  an  not  at  all  likely  to  be  blamed  by  Qod  for 
not  imitating  Him  as  «  Judge,  we  shall  aMozodly  bn  condemned 
bv  Him  for  not,  under  Judgment,  doing  as  we  were  bid.  But  even 
if  we  do  not  feel  able  to  obey  these  orders,  if  we  must  and  will  lay 
up  treasures  on  earth,  and  provide  ourselves  bags  with  holes  in  them, 
— God  may  perhaps  still,  with  scorn,  permit  us  in  our  weakness, 
provided  we  are  content  with  our  earthly  treasures,  when  we  have 
got  them,  and  don't  opp^-ess  our  brethren,  apd  grind  down  their 
souls  with  them.  We  may  have  our  old  bag  about  our  naek,  if  we 
will,  and  eo  to  heaven  like  i>^gars ; — ^bot  if  we  sell  oar  brother  also, 
and  put  the  prce  of  his  life  in  the  bag,  we  need  not  think  to  enter 
the  kingdom  oi  God  so  loaded.  A  rich  man  may,  though  hardly, 
enter  the  kint-dom  of  heaven  without  repenting  him  of  his  riches; 
but  not  the  thief,  without  rq>enting  his  theft;  nor  the  adulterer, 
without  repenting  his  aMtny;  not  tha  immr,  without  npwtiag 
hii  oioiy.— £«<lar  tS. 

THR  WOBLD's  two  GBOXTTB  OF  USK. 

The  world  is  divided  into  two  grorq;*  of  m«i;  the  first,  thow 


RSLIOIOVS  LESSONS  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMY  39S 

whoM  God  ia  Hhmt  God,  and  whoM  1^017  k  thair  i^ory,  who  mind 
liM««nlj  ttdnfi;  tnd  tfaia  aMond,  mm  wnoM  God  is  tlinr  beUy,  and 
wfaoM Mr  b ia  tiMir dMk «te  niod  aMllily  (hin^  IWis 
joil «  4MMMlnUt  •  iiiHlfu  iMi  II  tbo  imntion  of  knd  ftm 

inter.  .  .  .  All  itrong  ekaraoter  ewdlMltMlf  oat  of  Um  ■ram 
into  it!  own  plaoa  and  powar,  or  impotanaa:  and  thav  that  lOw  to 
tha  Flcdi  do  of  tha  Fleah  reap  oomqpttHi;  ani  ttif  Ml  wv  to 

^irit,  do  of  tha  Spirit  raap  Lifa. 

I  paoM.  withoat  writing  "ararlaiting,''  aa  parhapi  too  azpaeted. 
Tha  uit  ngn  of  noUa  tnut  in  God  and  man,  is  to  be  able  to  act  with- 
out any  such  hope.  All  tha  hardo  daads,  all  tha  porely  nnselflsh 
passions  of  oar  azistenoe,  depend  on  oar  beina  abla  to  liva,  if  need 
Da,  through  tha  shadow  of  oieath:  and  the  daily  heroism  of  simply 
brave  man  consists  in  fronting  and  acoeptins  Death  as  smhf  Ini^ 
ing  that  what  their  Maker  decrees  for  them  shall  ba  well. 

Bot  what  Oarpaodo  knows,  and  what  I  know  also,  are  precisely 
tha  things  whidh  yoar  wisaaera  qwthacarias,  and  thair  ap^anties^ 
•nd  too  often  yoar  wisaaera  rsetors  and  vioars,  and  thnr  appiwIliH^ 
tell  yoa  that  yoa  can't  know,  banMa  "aye  hath  not  mm  urn  ma 
heard  them the  things  which  God  hath  psapaiad  lor  ihma  thai 
lore  Him.  But  God  has  revealed -them  tow, —  .  .  .  — to  every 
child  that  has  been  taught  to  know  ita  Father  in  Heaven,— by  tha 
Miil:  baoaosa  we  have  minded,  or  do  mind,  the  things  of  the  ^irit 
in  aoma  maasara,  and  in  such  measure  have  entered  into  our  rest. 

'Tha  th»tiy  iHiich  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  Him." 
Hereafter,  and  ap  thara,  abova  the  clouds,  yoa  hava  been  taught  to 
think;— until  you  ware  informed  by  your  land^orrayors  that  there 
was  neither  up  nor  down ;  but  only  an  axis  of  x  and  an  axis  of  y ;  and 
by  amiring  aeronauta  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  blue  but  damp 
•nd  asote.  And  no<  you  don't  believe  these  things  are  prepared 
•nyiHuNt  Thay  ars.  prepared  just  as  much  as  ever,  when  and 
whan  lhay  nsed  te  be:  not  now,  and  here,  dose  at  your  hand.  All 
thhia  are  prqwred,— oome  ye  to  the  marriafn.  Up  and  down  cm 
tha  old  hignways  which  your  fatfieia  trod,  and  under  the  hedgsa  of 
virgin's  bower  and  wild  rose  which  your  fathers  planted,  there  are 
tha  messengers  crying  to  you  to  come.  Nay,  »t  y w»  ▼wy  doors, 
thou^  one  is  just  like  the  other  in  your  model  lodging  houses, — 
there  is  One  knocking,  if  you  would  open,  with  8omethmgT>etter  than 
tracts  in  His  basket;— supper,  and  very  nutterial  supper,  if  you  will 
only  condescend  to  eat  of  angel's  food  first  There  are  meato  for  the 
belly,  and  the  beUy  for  meats;  doth  not  your  Father  know  that 
have  need  of  these  things?  But  if  you  mito  yoar  bdly  yoy 
love,  and  your  meate  yoor  only  masters,  God  ahill  OHtroy  Mth  n 
saidtHwi  ItittmTB. 


VII 

ABBOWS  OF  THE  CHACE. 

Vol.  n.  (1880.) 

Volume  I  of  "The  Arrows  of  the  Chace"  is  clieady  quoted  in 
Book  n  of  this  work.  This  second  voltime  treats  of  stAjects  nMdk 
properly  belong  here.  The  chronological  orde?  of  the  103  letters  in 
this  volume  is  given  by  their  author  in  an  index,  together  with 
those  in  the  first  volume.  They  treat  of  all  sorts  of  questions,  imder 
the  comprehensive  heading  of  "Politics,  Economy,  and  Miscellan- 
eous Matters."  There  are  twenty-six  passages  of  ^Scripture  quoted 
•nd  commented  upon  in  the  two  volumes.  Two  or  three  adectiaaa 
follow:-— 

LOVE,  NOT  LUST. 

The  great  relation  of  the  sexes  is  Love,  not  Lust;  that  is  the  re- 
lation in  which  "male  and  female  created  He  them;"  putting  into 
them,  indeed,  to  be  distinctlv  restrained  to  the  office  of  fruitfmness, 
the  brutal  passion  of  Lust:  but  giving  them  the  spiritual  power  of 
Love,  that  each  q)irit  might  be  greater  and  purer  by  its  bond  to  an* 
other  MBOciate  roirit,  in  this  world,  and  that  which  is  to  come; 
lidp4o«t«^  and  utuia  of  eadi  othw*!  joy  fqr  vnit.—MmMtmMm 

Lettm.   

■MPLonmrr — bvtkr  thav  mnnDaMT. 

The  true  instraments  of  reformation  are  mxpUtfnmt  and  reward 
—not  punishment.  Aid  the  willing,  honor  the  YirtnooB,  and  eompel 
the  idle  into  occupation,  and  there  will  be  no  need  for  the  com- 
pelling of  any  into  the  great  and  lasting  indolence  of  death.  The  be- 
ginning of  all  true  reformation  among  the  criminal  classes  dependa 
on  the  establishment  of  institutions  for  their  active  employment, 
while  their  mminaUty  is  still  unripe,  and  their  self-reqMet,  eap*> 
dties  of  affeetiim,  and  aeiMe  of  justioe  not  altOMiethw  quene"^^ 
Thai  those  who  are  desirous  of  emplojrment  diould  always  be  ablo 
to  find  it,  will  hardly  be  disputed;  but  that  those  who  are  undesiroua 
of  employment  should  of  all  persons  be  the  most  strictly  oompelled 
to  it,  tiie  public  are  hardly  yet  convinced.  .  .  .  Our  neglect  of 
the  lower  orders  has  reached  a  point,  at  which  it  begina  to  bear  ite 

3ff6 


BBUQiOVS  LESSONS  IN  POUTICAL  ECONOMY  397 


voB  lux  Am  iraiuir. 

The  man  and  woman  are  meant  by  God  to  be  ^rfectly  noble  and 
beautiful  in  each  other's  eyes.  The  dress  is  right  which  makes 
them  n.  The  beit  dnas  is  that  which  is  beautiful  in  the  eyes  of 
noV'e  and  wise  pevsona.  Ricdit  drw  ia  tharafore  that  whidi  is  fA 
for  the  station  in  jife,  and  &e  work  to  be  done  in  it;  and  whidi 
ia  'Le-^ise  grtxefai — ^becoming — lasting — ^healthful — and  easy; on 
occ  s^t  u.  bplendid,  alwayt  as  beautiful  as  possible.  Right  dress  is 
theieioio  ut-ov  f?;— simple — radiantly  clean—carefully  put  on — care- 
fully kept.  Cheap  dress,  bought  for  cheapness  sake,  and  costly  dress 
bought  for  costliness  sake,  are  both  abominations.  Right  areas  is 
bought  /or  its  worth,  and  at  its  worth ;  and  bought  only  when  wanted. 

Tm  Scriptural  authority  for  dress  is  oentrauaed  by  Proverbs  xxxi, 
21,  22;  and  by  SaTiuel  1,  24;  the  latter  especially  indicating  the 
duty  of  the  king  or  governor  of  the  state ;  as  the  former  the  duty 
of  VtM  housewife.  It  is  necessary  for  the  complete  understanding  of 
those  passages,  tiiat  ^e  reader  should  know  that  "scarlet"  means 
intense  central  radiance  of  pure  color;  it  is  the  type  of  purest  color- 
between  pale  and  dark— between  sad  and  gay.  It  was  therefore 
used  with  hyssop  as  a  type  of  purification.  Tna»  an  many  stronger 
passages,  such  as  Psahn  xlv,  13,  14;  but  as  some  people  read  them 
under  the  impression  of  their  being  figurative,  I  need  not  refer  to 
them.  The  passages  in  the  Prophecies  and  Epistles  against  drew 
apply  only  to  Hs  abuses.  Dress  worn  for  the  sake  of  vanity  or  coveted 
in  jealousy,  is  as  evil  as  anything  else  similarly  so  abused.  A  woman 
diould  earnestly  desire  to  be  bMutiful,  as  she  should  dsnra  to  be 
intelligent ;  her  dress  shoold  be  as  stadied  as  bar  words ;  bat  if  the  one 
is  worE  or  the  other  90km  ia  yuSkf  or  iaialHMe,  both  «•  eqiMUj 


VIII 


FICTION— FAIR  AND  FOUL. 
OnbVol.  (1880-1.) 

Here,  at  least,  is  one  Ruakin  title  which  fairly  lOgBeiti  th*  wah- 

ject  of  the  volume. 

This  little  work  of  65  pages  was  originally  written  in  five  articles 
and  published  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  Magazine,  and  afterwards 
reprinted  in  a  volume  bearing  the  title  of  "On  the  Old  Road"  which 
also  contained  other  Magazine  articles.  Ruskin  expresses  contend 
for  certain  forms  of  fiction  which  he  calls  "the  Divinity  of  Decompo- 
akion."  Here  we  find  one  of  his  most  graphic  pictures  of  contrast 
between  ooontry  life  and  life  in  a  great  dty: — ^"In  the  country  every 
morning  of  the  year  brings  with  it  a  new  aspect  of  springing  or  fad- 
ing nature;  a  new  duty  to  be  fulfilled  upon  earth,  and  a  new  promise 
or  waning  in  heaven.  No  day  is  without  its  innocent  h<^  iti  spe- 
cial prudence,  its  kindly  gift,  and  its  sublime  danger;  and  in  every 
process  of  wise  husbandry,  and  every  effort  of  contending  or  remedial 
courage,  tiM  idiolesome  paarions,  pride,  and  bodily  power  of  tht 
bourer  are  excited  and  exerted  in  the  happiest  unison.  The  compan- 
ionship of  domestic,  the  care  of  serviceable,  animals,  soften  and  en- 
large his  life  with  loidy  diaritifli,  and  disdi^iiM  him  in  familiar 
wisdoms  and  unboastf ul  fortitudes ;  while  the  divine  laws  of  seed-time 
which  cannot  be  recalled,  harvest  which  cannot  be  hastened,  and 
winter  in  which  no  man  eaa  work,  compel  tin  impatioioei  and  eofvet* 
ing  of  his  heart  into  labour  too  submissive  to  be  anxious,  and  rest  too 
sweet  to  be  wanton.  What  thought  can  enough  comprehend  the 
contrast  betwem  such  life,  and  tiiat  in  streeii  who*  iommer  and 
winter  are  only  alternations  of  heat  and  cold;  where  snow  never  fell 
whitfl,  nor  sunshine  dear;  where  the  ground  is  only  a  pavement, 
and  the  sky  no  more  than  the  roof  <rf  an  aroade;  whwe  the 
utmost  power  of  a  storm  is  to  choke  the  gutters,  and  the  finest  magic 
of  spring,  to  change  mud  into  dust;  where— chief  and  most  fatal 
difference  in  state,  there  is  no  utoNSt  of  ocwyation  fa»aj€iii» 

39I 


ESUGI0V8  LBS80N8  IN  POLITICAL  ECONOMT. 


inhabitants  bat  the  loatine  of  counter  or  des?  .  within  doors,  and  the 
effort  to  pass  each  other  without  collision  outside ;  so  that  hmn  morn- 
ing to  evening  the  only  possible  variation  of  the  monotony  of  the 
hours,  and  lightening  of  the  penalty  of  ezistenoe,  most  be  some  kind 
ni  V  '"chief.'* 

A  very  large  portion  of  the  fiction  of  the  present  age  bears  a  re> 
lation  to  literature  similar  to  that  which  the  business  of  the  saloon 
Iceeper,  the  dealer  in  tobacco,  and  tiie  picker  of  lagi  in  a  dty  alley, 
bear  to  merchandise.  It  is  a  traffic  in  the  refuse  and  deoompositiiHi  of 
human  society.  It  is  a  pestilence  that  "walketh  in  darkness." 

In  Ruskin's  day  this  fwm  of  fiction  was  already  common. 
He  calls  it  a  "literature  of  the  prison-house,  because  the  thwarted 
habits  of  body  and  mind,  which  are  the  punishment  of  reckless 
crowding  in  dties,  beo(nne,  hi  the  issne  oi  ttiat  ponishment,  fri^t* 
ful  subjects  of  exclusive  interest  to  themselves;  and  the  art  of  fiction 
in  which  they  finally  delight  is  only  the  more  studied  arrangement 
•nd  iOnatntion,  by  ooloDzed  firelights,  of  the  daily  bulMni  of  their 
own  wretchedness,  in  the  jtimm  eakndn,  tiM  police  imm^  and  Ihe 
hospital  report" 

Soott  was  to  RnsHn  the  best  of  all  novdista.  He  loved  him  be> 
cause  his  teaching  was  lofty  and  his  portraitnie  was  healthy  and 
vital.  He  says: — ^"It  is  to  say  little  for  tho  types  of  youth  and  maid 
which  alone  Scott  felt  it  a  joy  to  imagine,  or  thought  it  honorable 
to  portray,  that  they  act  and  feel  in  a  sphere  where  they  are  new 
for  an  instant  liable  to  any  of  the  weaknesses  which  disturb  the  calm, 
or  shake  the  resolution,  of  chastity  and  courage  in  a  modem  novel. 

...  But  there  is  another  d^erence  in  the  woof  of  a  Waverly 
novel  from  the  cobweb  of  a  modem  one,  which  depends  on  Scott's 
larger  view  of  human  life.  Marriage  is  by  no  means,  in  his  con* 
eaptim  of  num  and  woman,  the  most  important  business  of  their  «b> 
istence;  nor  love  the  only  rb««ard  to  be  proposed  to  their  virtue  or 
exertion.  It  is  not  in  his  reading  of  the  laws  of  Providence  a  neoes* 
lity  that  ybiM  dwaM,  eifliar  by  Ian  m  any  other  external  blesdng^ 
be  rewarded  at  aB;  and  marriage  is  in  all  cases  thought  of  as  a  con* 
stitnani  of  the  liajiiiiiiMi  of  life,  but  not  as  its  only  interest,  still  lest 
Hi  <mly  ahn." 

It  is  worth  while  to  read  these  pages  of  Ruskin's  comment  if  only 
for  his  historic  review  and  literary  analysis  of  Scott's  novels,  and 
the  pen  porttaten  «hSflh  tb^  etmtala     &Qtt  hhudf. 


4oe  THE  RSLIOION  OF  BOOON 

The  "fiction  of  death"  is  deMribed  by  •  nfcNoea  to  Dkktm'f 
Bkftk  HooM,  in  n^eh  novel,  Buskin  points  out,  "there  are  nine 
deaths."  Oliver  Twist  is  described  as  "the  greatest  work  of  Didc- 
ena,  and  is  distinguished  "with  honour,  from  the  loathsome  mass 
to  which  it  typically  bekmgfc'* 

Ruskin's  estimate  of  fiction  is  perhiqM  better  seen  m  the  second 
volume  of  Fors  CUvigera  (Letter  31)  ^ere  he  speaks  of  Miss 
Edgeworth,  Scott,  DidwM,  and  Thadwttj.  An  eKtanded  •ooounl 
of  the  lift  of  Bern  is  the        in  ^  toIum. 


BOOK  SIXTH 

Religion  in  Life  and  Poetry 


RELIGION  IN  LIFE  AND 
POETRY 


I 

NOTES  ON  THE  CONSTRUCTION  OF  SHEEFFOLDa 

(1851.) 

These  notes  fill  32  pages  which  were  published  originally  as  a 
pamphlet  and  afterwards  reinrinted  in  "On  the  (M  Road." 

It  is  said  that  farmers  were  attracted  by  its  title  and  bought  the 
book  for  quite  another  purpose  than  that  for  which  it  was  de- 
signed.* 

The  notes  are  evidence  of  a  strong  desire  in  Ruskin  to  witness  the 
union  of  all  Protestant  Christian  Churches  into  one  organic  body,— 
the  special  appeal  however  being  directed  to  the  Scotch  FreiS>ytaians 
to  enter  ttie  Anglican  Church,  having  "One  fold  and  one  Shepherd." 

It  is  a  singular  illustration  of  the  intense  desire  in  the  miu  f 
Ruskin  to  see  things  put  right,  and  his  own  evra^mming  desiie  to 
put  ihfim  right.  He  says: — "I  do  not  profea  to  teach  Divinity; 
and  I  pray  tide  reader  to  understand  this,  and  to  pardon  the  slight* 
ness  and  insufficiency  of  notes  set  down  with  no  more  intenticm  of 
connected  treatment  than  might  regiilate  an  acddental  conversa- 
tion." Yet  he  goes  on  to  discuss  the  Scriptural  meaning  of  the  word 
"Church:"  its  authority  over  doctrine,  and  for  discipline: — ^its  tela- 
tion  to  State  and  its  teaching  in  the  Scriptures,  and  in  his  lecture  on 
Kings'  Treasuries  in  "Sesame  and  Lilies"  and  Letter  13  in  "Time 
and  Tide"  he  treated  of  similar  subjects. 

Selections  from  this  Essay  would  be  altogethtt  imialkfactory. 
It  must  be  read  as  a  whole  in  order  to  appreciate  any  part  of  it.  We 

>Mr.  J.  Haln  Friswell,  in  "Modem  Men  of  Lettew,"  relate*  a  rtory  of  • 
faraer,  not  acquainted  witli  books,  who  took  to  bia  farm,  witb  immenie  gnato, 
a  copy  of  this  book,  aapposing  it  to  relate  to  the  actual  coostractioB  of  fawa 
•beep-folds.  "His  rage  may  be  ImBglned,"  itaya  Mr.  FriawtD,  "aliau  ka  faoaA 
that  it  waa  •  pamphlet  on  the  diacipline  of  tba  Ohnreh." 


^  TEE  BXUaWN  Of  BV8KIN 

W9M  ^aXtf  Ida  it  to  this  Tolum*  if  ip 

be  content  to  quote  iti  donng  wordi:—   

"Chrirt  does  not  order  impo«biUtiee,  and  H«  hmadtnA  •  to 
p««,  ona  irtth  .nother.  Nay,  it  ii  «>Bwered-He  came  not  to 

ld^,buta.woid.         verily:  to^^yi^l "Si 
l«t  notwithin  Hie  Chuidi;  for  to  Hia  Cteidi  Ht  1^ 

I  ghra  imto  700." 


11 


BWBAMF.  AND  HUES. 
QraVoL.  TnnlACTDw.  (1868.) 

Theee  three  lectures  were  delivered  at  different  times  and  places 
between  1864-8  and  were  afterwards  published  under  tha  Anthor'f 
own  direction.   They  bore  the  respective  titles  of : — 

1.  "Of  the  Kinflp'  Tnaraiiei,  wlikii  mmm  good  boob  tad 
sound  study. 

2.  "Of  the  Queens'  Gardens"  is  addressed  to  young  women  and 
u  full  of  noble  ooonael  and  pictures  of  rare  literary  excellence,  ito 
notes  on  the  women  of  Shakspeaie,  Dante,  Sophocles,  Sp^nfltf 
and  Scott  are  treasures  indeed. 

3.  "The  Mystery  of  Life"  may  be  read  as  a  pen-portrait  of  the 
inner  life  of  th«  Authw  up  to  tliai  timo,  ha  beUig  tbn  hmt  fif^ 
yean  of  age. 

Of  all  the  numerous  works  of  Ruskin  this  is  the  most  popular 
with  the  public.  And  no  wonder!  It  is  a  delightfully  readable 
book, — -fit  for  a  philosopher's  library  or  for  a  gift  book  to  any  young 
graduate  of  our  public  schools.  It  is  written  in  the  most  charming 
strain  of  prose-poetry, — is  indeed,  a  daasic— his  wiae  wofds  flowing 
as  limpid  as  a  xbountain  stream. 

If  we  were  to  select  passages  from  it  our  difficulty  would  be  to 
decide  what  to  omit.  And  as  the  book  may  be  found  in  almost 
every  series  of  reprints  and  can  be  purchased  for  a  trifle  at  any  book> 
stand,  wo  will  only  quote  Mr.  Ruskin's  own  selection.  In  his  pre- 
face he  says:  "The  first  lecture  says  that  life  being  very  short,  an<l 
the  quiet  hours  of  it  very  few,  we  ought  to  waste  none  of  them  in 
reading  valueless  books.  .  .  .  And  I  would  urge  upon  every 
young  man,  as  the  beginning  of  his  due  and  wise  provision  for  his 
household,  to  obtain  as  soon  as  he  can,  by  the  severest  economy, 
a  restricted,  serviceable,  and  steadily — ^however  slowly — Imiriinaliifl. 
series  of  books  for  use  through  life;  making  his  little  library,  of  all 
the  furniture  in  his  room,  the  most  studied  and  decorative  piece; 
every  vtSsam  having  ita  angned  j^aee,  fike  a  little  ^atae  in  ill 


4o6  THE  REUaiON  OF  BVSKIN 

niche,  and  one  of  the  earliert  and  strictest  lessons  to  the  children  of 
the  house  being  how  to  turn  the  pages  of  their  own  literary  poMet* 
sions  lightly  and  deliberately,  with  no  dunce  of  tMoing  or  dogi* 
ean." 

Of  the  second  and  third  lectures  he  says:— "The  entire  gist  and 
conclusion  of  them  is  in  the  lait  six  paragraphs,  which  contain  tlM 
best  expression.  I  bare  yet  been  able  to  put  in  words  of  what,  so  far 
as  is  within  my  power,  I  mean  henceforward  both  to  do  myself,  and 
to  plead  with  all  over  whom  I  have  any  infloinoe,  to  do  abo  Mcord* 
ing  to  their  means." 

Theee  nx  pongnftbs  are  aa  followi: 

WHAT  IT  lOAKS  TO  TAKB  VP  OUB  CBM8. 

185.  "The  work  of  men"— and  what  is  that?  Well,  we  may 
any  of  m  know  very  quickly,  on  the  condition  of  being  wholly  ready 
to  do  it  But  many  of  us  are  for  the  most  part  thmking,  not  of 
what  we  are  to  do,  but  of  what  we  are  to  get ;  and  the  best  of  us  are 
sunk  into  the  sin  of  Ananias,  and  it  is  a  mortal  one—we  want  to 
i  -»  back  part  of  the  price;  and  we  continually  talk  of  t^ing  to 
o  ross,  as  if  the  only  harm  in  a  cross  was  the  wetght  of  it— mi  if 
it  was  only  a  thing  to  be  carried,  instead  of  to  be— crucified  upon. 
"Tbey  that  are  His  have  crucified  the  flesh,  with  the  affections 
•nd  lusts."  Does  that  mean,  think  you,  that  in  time  of  national  dis- 
tNM.  of  religioas  trial,  of  crisis  for  every  interest  and  hope  of 
humanity— none  <rf  us  will  cease  jesting,  none  cease  idling,  none 
put  t!  .-mselves  to  any  wholesome  work,  none  take  so  much  as  a  tag 
of  1  off  their  footman's  coats,  to  save  the  world?  Or  doea  it 
ratr  mean,  that  they  are  ready  to  leave  houses,  lands  and  kin- 
dreds—yes,  and  life  if  need  be?  Life!— some  of  «»  «»dy 
enough  to  throw  that  away,  joyless  as  we  have  made  it.  But  statton 
in  Life"— how  many  of  us  are  ready  to  quit  thatf  Is  it  not  always 
the  great  objection,  where  there  is  question  of  findinj^  somethmg  iMe* 
ful  to  do— "We  cannot  leave  our  stations  in  Life? 

Those  of  us  who  really  cannot— that  is  to  say,  who  can  only  main- 
tain themselves  by  continuing  in  some  business  or  salaried  office, 
have  already  something  to  do ;  and  all  that  they  have  to  see  to,  is  UM 
they  do  it  honestly  and  with  all  their  might.  But  with  mart  people 
who  use  that  apology,  "remaining  in  the  station  of  life  to  which 
Providence  has  called  them,"  means  keeping  all  the  camagM,  and 
aU  the  footmen  and  large  houses  they  can  possibly  pay  for;  and,  once 
for  all.  I  say  that  if  ever  Providence  dvd  put  them  into  stations  of 
4hat  9(irt— which  is  not  at  all  a  matter  of  certainty-Providence  is 
just  now  very  distinctly  caUing  them  out  again.  Levi  s  |tat»on 
iSfe  wai  the  wceipk  of  custom;  and  Peter's,  the  shore  of  Galilee; 


BELIOION  IN  UFE  AND  POETRY 


•nd  PboI's,  the  ante-ohamben  of  the  High 
in  life"  etMsn  had  to  leave,  with  brief  notice. 

And,  whatever  our  station  in  life  may  be,  at  this  crisis,  thoM  of  as 
who  mean  to  'ulfill  our  duty  oueht,  first,  to  live  on  ai  Uttli  m  «•  ma; 
and,  secondly,  to  do  all  the  wholesome  woric  for  U  w«  ean,  ui  to 
spend  all  we  can  spare  in  doing  all  the  sore  good  we  ma. 

And  sure  ^ood  is  first  in  feeing  people,  toon  in  drsssiiiu  people, 
then  in  lodgug  people,  and  lastly  in  nehtly  plsMfalg  pWBl% 
Of  sehncss,  or  any  other  subject  of  tnought. 

FnCDINO  THE  HUMORY. 

188.  I  say  first  in  feeding;  and,  once  for  all,  do  not  let  your- 
selvee  be  deceived  by  any  of  the  common  talk  of  "indiscriminate 
charity."-  The  order  to  us  is  not  to  feed  the  deserving  hungry,  nor 
the  industrious  hungry,  nor  the  amiable  and  well-intentioned  hun- 
gry, but  simply  to  feed  the  hungry.  It  is  quite  true,  infallibly 
true,  that  if  any  man  will  not  work,  neither  should  he  eat— thinK 
of  that,  and  every  time  you  sit  down  to  yoor  dinner,  ladies  and 
gantlemai.  say  solonnly,  befm  joa  tA  %  Ussring,  "How  much 
iratk  hKf  I  dm*  today  for  my  diniMr?" 

CLOTHINa  THB  NEEDY. 

137.  Secondly,  dressing  people — that  is  to  say,  urging  every  one 
within  reach  of  your  inflimioe  to  be  always  neat  and  clean,  and  giv- 
ing them  means  of  beir  ;  so.  In  so  far  as  they  absolutely  refuse,  you 
must  ^ve  up  the  effort  with  respect  to  them,  only  taking  care  that 
no  children  within  your  sphere  of  influence  shall  any  more  be 
brought  up  with  such  habits;  and  that  every  person  who  is  willing 
to  dress  with  propriety  shall  have  encouragement  to  do  so.  And 
the  first  absolutely  necessary  stop  towards  this  is  4^e  grada^d  adop- 
tion for  a  consistent  dress  for  dififerent  ranks  of  persons,  so  that 
Mnk  shall  be  known  by  their  dress;  and  the  restriction  of  the 
changes  of  fadiion  within  certain  limits.  All  which  appears  for 
the  present  quite  impossible ;  but  it  is  only  so  far  as  even  difiicult 
as  it  is  difficult  to  conquer  our  vanity,  frivolity,  and  desire  to  appear 
what  we  are  not.  And  it  is  not,  nor  ever  shall  be,  creed  of  mine, 
that  these  mean  and  shallow  vices  are  unoonquenolo  by  ^"■tiiia 


HOMES  FOR  THE  PEOPLE. 

138.  And  then,  thirdly,  lod9;ing  people,  which  you  may  think 
should  have  been  put  first,  bnt  I  put  it  third,  bemuse  we  must  feed 
and  clothe  people  where  we  find  them,  and  lodge  them  afterwards. 
And  providing  lodgment  for  them  means  a  great  deal  of  vigorous 
legisUtion,  and  cutting  down  of  vested  interests  that  stand  in  the 
way,  and  after  that,  or  before  that,  so  far  as  wo  can  get  it,  thorough 
Mtituy  aad  Nmoitd  aetioD  in  the  hoosas  tlu^  «•  hm;  md 


«8l  TBM  BEimOlf  OF  BVBKIV 

the  bmlding  of  more,  rtrongly,  beautifuUy,  and  in  grooM  of  liinited 
flrtank  kept  in  proportion  to  thei  v  ftreams,  and  walled  round,  so 
SiTttMn  may  be  no  festering  and  wretch^  luburb  anywhere, 
St  clean  and  bow  itwet  within,  and  the  open  country  without, 
Sii  a  belt  of  UmMa  gwden  and  orchard  round  the  walb,  so  Uiat 
from  any  part  of  the  dty  perfeetty  frah  •» 
fS  horiiHiight  be  reacUle  in  a  few  intoiitrf  watt^  .JTL^S 
final  aim;  but  m  immediate  action  every  minor  and  pMnble  mod 
to  be  iMtanUy  done  when,  and  as,  we  can;  roofs  mended  that  hwe 
holes  in  them— fences  patched  that  have  gaps  in  them— walls 
buttressed  that  totter— and  floors  propped  that  shake:  cleMlinMS 
•ad  order  enfowed  with  our  own  hands  and  eye^  ti  I  we  «>"  breath- 
Sb,  every  day.   And  all  the  fine  arts  wij  l^eathdv  follow  I 
myielf  have  wished  a  flipht  of  stone  stiurs  all  down,  witb  bucket  and 
bi^m.  in  a  Savoy  inn,  *here  they  hadn't  washed  th«r  st«w  ^ 
they  dnt  went  up  them?  and  I  never  made  a  b«tl«  iMtt  wm 

WORK  FOB  BVBBYONB. 

189  The  law  for  every  Christian  man  and  woman  is,  that  they 
Amtt  be  in  direct  service  towards  one  of  these  three  needs,  as  lar 
M  k  eoorietent  with  their  own  special  occupation,  and  if  they  have 
no  special  business,  then  wholly  in  one  of  these  services.  And  out 
of  sSTSertion  in'  plain  du^^  oAer  good  wiU  come;  for  in  Am 
direct  contention  with  material  evil,  you  will  find  out  the jwal 
nature  of  all  evil ;  you  will  discern  by  the  various  kmds  of  resistance, 
what  U  really  the  fault  and  a  antagonism  to  good;  also  you  will 
find  the  most  unexpected  helps  and  profound  lewons  given,  and 
truths  will  come  thus  down  to  us  which  the  speculation  of  aU  our 
lives  would  never  have  raised  us  up  to.  You  will  find  nearly  every 
educational  problem  solved,  as  soon  as  you  truly  w^t  to  do  som^ 
thine:  everybody  will  become  of  use  m  their  own  fittest  way,  ana 
will  learn  what  is  best  for  them  to  know  in  that  use.  Competitive 
examination  will  then,  and  not  tiU  then,  be  ''»»«{«"/'J?«»;^^ 
will  be  daily,  and  calm,  and  in  practice;  and  on  these  f^^^i^J^ 
and  minute,  but  certain  and  serviceable  knowlfeages,^will  be  lordj^ 
edified  tufl  ifteindl  Iht  pMter  tzti  and  qtaidid  aeantiett 


Air  xxvAuma  nuatoff. 

140.   But  much  more  than  this.   On  such  holy  and  simpk 
pMctioe  will  be  founded,  indeed,  at  last, 
K  f    test  of  all  the  mysteries  of  hfe  and  the  most  tMnble,  » 
the  w.-jption  of  even  the  linoereet  ^^m^  ,^}^^^ ^J^""^ 
founded  on  rational,  elfcetive,  hmnWe,  and  i^eW  g^P* 
ful  action,  observe!  for  there  i3  just  one  law,  whwh  ^Wed,  keeps 


RELiaiON  IN  Lin  AND  POETBT  409 

upon  the  points  in  which  we  di£Fer  from  other  people,  we  are  wroni; 
and  in  the  devil's  power.  That  is  the  essence  of  the  Pharisee^ 
thanksgiving — "Lora,  I  thank  thee  that  I  am  not  other  men  are." 
At  every  moment  of  oar  lives  we  should  be  trying  to  find  out  not  in 
what  wt  diffw  with  other  pwipla,  but  in  what  we  agrw  with  tiMm; 
and  the  moment  we  fad  we  ean  agna  w  to  anything  that  Aooid  bt 
done,  kind  or  good,  (and  who  but  fools  couldn't?)  then  do  it;  push 
at  it  together;  you  can't  quarrel  in  a  side-by-side  push;  but  the 
moment  that  even  the  best  men  stop  pushing,  and  hegin  talking, 
they  mistake  their  pugnacity  for  piety,  and  it's  all  over.  I  will  not 
■peak  of  the  crimes  which  in  past  times  have  been  committed  in  th« 
name  of  Christ,  nor  of  the  follies  which  are  at  this  hour  held  to  b* 
«(Hid^nt  with  obe&Mce  to  Him ;  but  I  vnll  speak  of  the  morbid 
eonwtion  and  waste  of  vital  power  in  relimous  sentiment,  br 
whien  the  pure  strength  of  that  which  should  oe  the  guiding  soul 
of  every  nation,  the  splendour  of  its  vouthful  manhoM,  and  ipol* 
less  light  of  its  maidenhood,  is  averted  or  cast  away. 

We  once  taught  our  youths  to  make  Latin  verses,  and  called 
tL.  >  educa^;  now  we  teach  tl^m  to  leap  and  to  row,  to  hit  a  ball 
with  a  bat,  and  call  them  .'M.  Can  thev  plow,  can  thev  sow, 
can  they  piaftt  1^  Um  ri^t  > .  r  Imild  with  a  stmidy  hand?  Is 
it  the  effort  of  Oeir  lives  to  be  vuaste,  knightly,  faithful,  holy  in 
thought,  lovely  in  word  and  deed?  Ladeea  it  is,  with  some,  nay 
with  many,  and  the  strength  of  England  is  in  them,  and  the  hope: 
but  we  have  to  turn  their  courage  from  the  toil  of  war  to  the  toil  of 
mercy;  and  their  intellect  from  dispute  of  words  to  discernment 
of  thmgs;  and  their  knighthood  from  the  errantry  of  adventure  to 
the  state  and  iidelitv  of  a  kingly  power.  And  then,  indeed,  shall 
abide,  for  them,  and  for  us  an  incorruptible  fdfeity,  and  an  infalli* 
ble  religiim;  luill  aUds  fnr  vm  Faith,  no  aaofe  to  be  assailed  \ar 
temptation,  no  more  to  be  Mimded  by  wmI3i  and  by  fear;— aiiul 
pbiae  wi1±i  us  Hope,  no  more  to  be  quenched  by  the  years  that  over- 
whelm,  or  made  ashamed  by  the  shadows  that  betntv;  shall  abide 
for  us,  and  with  us,  the  greatest  of  these;  the  abioing  will,  the 
abiding  mua»,  of  our  Father.  For  the  gceateit  of  thcM^  u  Gh«ritgr* 


in 


THE  FLEASUItES  OF  ENOLAKD. 
FovB  Lktubm.  (18M.) 

Theee  lectures,  delivered  at  Oxford,  were  aupplementary  to  those 
given  in  the  same  place  on  "The  Art  of  Englaikl"  one  year  earlier. 
They  treat  of  the  advancement  oi  Gbiktlanity  in  Brittin.  The 
tttles  of  the  lectures  are: — 

1.  The  Pleasures  of  Learning. 

2.  The  Pleasures  of  Faith. 

3.  The  Pleasures  of  Deed. 

4.  The  Pleasures  of  Fancy. 

In  their  delivery  Idr.  Ruskin  referred  his  hearers  to  the  lecture  on 
*^e  Fatme  of  En^and"  gjven  in  1869  and  is  puUidied  in  tfa* 
TOlume  entitled  "The  Crown  of  Wild  Olive." 

Hu8  is  one  of  the  lesser  works  which  do  not  fall  so  readily  into 
oar  plan  (tfwleetiona  hat  should  be  read  at  a  tHiok.  The  following 
•ztnMiti  however  are  qweiaUy  ee.Biiwnd>d>— 

TBB  UmUMCI  CV  TH>  WCUKt  Of  OSQURZaKRT. 

I  have^  always  been  by  my  own  feeling  disposed  to  hold  the 
mythologies  founded  on  the  love  and  knowledge  of  the  natural 
world,  I  have  also  been  led  by  them  to  conceive,  far  more  forcibly 
than  hitherto,  the  power  which  the  story  of  Christianity  possMsea, 
first  heard  throu^  the  wreaths  of  that  cloudy  superstition,  in  the 
sobetitutiou,  for  its  va^rescent  allMory,  of  a  positive  and  literal 
account  of  a  real  Creation,  and  an  instantly  present,  omnipresent, 
and  compaasionftte  God.  .  .  .  And  it  was  precisely,  observe, 
the  vivacity  and  joy  with  which  the  main  fact  of  Christ's  life  was 
accepted  which  gave  the  force  and  wrath  to  the  oontroventee  in> 
stantly  arising  arout  its  nature. 

Those  controversies  vexed  and  shook,  but  never  undermined,  the 
faith  they  strove  to  purify,  and  the^  miraculous  presence,  errorless 
precept,  and  loving  promises  of  their  Lord  were  alike  undoubted, 
alike  rejoiced  in,  by  every  nation  that  heard  the  word  of  Apostles. 
The  Pelagian's  assertion  that  immortality  could  be  won  by  man's 
will,  and  tlM  Aritn's  that  Ghiist  possessed  no  mm*  than  man's 

410 


RELIGION  IN  LIFE  AND  POETRY  411 

nature,  never  for  an  iMtant--or  in  any  eountiy— hindered  the 
advance  of  the  moral  law  and  inteOeetbal  hope  of  Chriatianity 
BritMh  hen-y  conceming*Free  Will,  thoS 
it  bioa|dit  bi^p  after  bi^op  mto  England  to  extinmish  it, 
remained  an  extremely  healthy  and  active  element  in  the  British 
mind  down  to  the  days  of  John  Bunyan  and  the  guide  Great  Heart, 
and  the  calmly  Christian  justice  and  simple  human  virtue  of  Theo^ 
l2^J2i?/^"^  «»*»  Md  first  bargeoQs  of  the  nnwiwitiou  of 

WOBLDLT  PMtranST  ATO  ■BIGBOV. 

You  Me  in  the  habit  of  supposing  that  temporal  prosperity  is 
owing  either  to  worldly  chance  or  to  worldly  prudence;  and  is  never 
granted  in  any  wjible  relation  to  states  of  religious  temper.  Put 
that  treacherous  doubt  away  from  you,  with  disdain;  take  for  bans 
of  reasoning  the  noble  postulate,  that  the  elements  of  ChrMan 
faith  are  sound,— instead  of  the  haw  one,  that  they  are  deceptive: 
reread  the  great  story  of  the  world  in  that  light,  and  see  what  a 
wjdlj^reaTyet  miracolona  tnor,  it  wffl  thia  bear  ti»  joo^ 

ram  rsausnm  cat  waxol 

We  continually  hear  of  the  trials,  sometimes  of  the  victories,  of 
liaith,— but  s^rcely  ever  of  its  pleasures.  Whereas,  at  this  time, 
you  will  find  that  the  chief  delight  of  all  good  men  was  in  the  recog- 
nition of  the  goodness  and  wisdom  of  the  Master,  who  had  come  to 
dwell  with  them  upon  earth.  It  i»  almost  impossible  for  you  to  con- 
ceive the  vividness  of  this  sense  in  them;  it  is  totaUy  impoaeible  for 
you  to  conceive  the  eomfort,  peace,  and  force  of  it  In  everything 
uat  you  now  do  or  seek,  you  expose  yourselves  to  countless  miseries 
of  shame  and  disappointment,  because  in  your  doing  you  depend  on 
nothing  but  your  own  powers,  and  in  seeking  choose  only  your  own 
gratification.  .  .  .  The  idea  of  doing  anything  except  for  your 
own  praise  or  profit  has  narrowed  itself  into  little  more  than  tiw 
nwcentors  uvitation  to  the  company  with  little  voice  and  1m  on^ 
&•  to  •%ing  to  tha  p«ai»  and  gl^Sf  <kd."-^U»f. /I. 

FAITH  VOLUNTABT. 

I  have  said  that  you  cannot  imagine  Am  feeling  of  the  energy  of 
daily  life  applied  in  the  real  meaning  of  those  words.  You  can- 
DJ^  imagine  it,  but  you  con  prove  it.  Are  any  of  you  willing,  sim- 
mr  as  a  philosophical  experiment  in  the  greatest  sciences,  to  adopt 
the  principles  and  feelings  of  these  men  of  a  thousand  years  ago  for 
a  given  time,  say  for  a  year?  It  cannot  possibly  do  you  anyharm 
to  try,  and  you  cannot  possibly  learn  what  is  true  in  theae  things, 
without  trying.  If  after  a  year's  experience  of  meb  method  you 
find  yourself  no  happier  than  before,  at  hart  you  wiU  ba  aUa  to 


413  THE  RELIGION  OF  RUSKIN 

support  your  present  opinions  at  once  with  more  grace  aDjl  xnoro 
mooesty :  having  conceded  the  trial  it  asked  for,  to  the  opposite 
.   .   .   Were  faith  not  voluntary,  it  ooold  not  be  pndsed,  and 
would  not  be  rewwded. — Lect.  II. 

FRBEDOM  IN  ITS  FULNESS. 

If  you  are  minded  thus  to  try,  begin  each  day  with  Alfred's 
prayer, — fiat  voluntas  tua;  resolving  that  you  will  stand  to  it,  and 
that  nothhig  that  happens  in  the  course  of  the  day  shall  displease 
you.  .  .  .  Imagine  that  the  thing  is  being  done  through  you, 
no*,  by  you:  that  the  good  of  it  mav  never  be  known,  but  that  at 
lesst,  unless  by  your  rebellion  or  foolishness,  there  can  come  no 
evil  into  it,  nor  wrong  chance  to  it.  Resolve  also  with  steady  indus- 
try to  do  what  you  can  for  the  help  of  your  country  and  its  honour, 
and  the  honour  of  its  God ;  and  that  you  will  not  join  hands  in  its 
iniquity,  nor  turn  aside  from  its  misery ;  and  that  in  all  you  do  and 
feel  yon  will  look  frankly  for  ttie  immediate  help  and  direction, 
and  to  vour  own  oonsdfflncee,  nqtressed  approval,  of  God.  Liv« 
thus,  an^  believe,  and  with  swiftoess  of  answer  proportioned  to  the 
frankness  of  the  trust,  most  surely  tho  God  of  hi^  will  fill  yoa 
with  all  joy  and  peace  in  believing. 

But,  if  you  will  not  do  this,  if  you  have  not  courage  nor  heart 
enough  to  break  away  the  fetters  of  earth,  and  take  up  the  sensual 
bed  of  it,  and  walk;  if  you  say  that  you  are  bound  to  win  this 
thing,  and  become  t>:e  other  thing,  and  that  the  wishes  of  your 
friends, — and  the  interests  of  your  familv, — and  the  bias  of  your 
jwnius, — and  the  expectations  of  your  college,-7and  all  the  rnt  of 
M»e  bow-wow-wow  of  the  wild  dog-world,  must  be  attended  to, 
whether  you  like  it  or  no, — then,  at  least,  for  shame  give  up  talk 
about  being  free  or  independent  creatures;  recognize  yourselves  for 
slaves  in  whom  the  thoughts  are  put  in  ward  with  their  bodies,  and 
their  hearts  manacled  with  their  hands:  and  then  at  least  also,  for 
shame,  if  you  refuse  to  believe  that  ever  there  were  men  who  gave 
thmr  souls  to  QodL— know  and  confess  how  tuxely  then  axe  mm 
who  mil  tbna  to  His  wSmnuji-'Jita,  tt. 


TV 

PRAETERITA. 
Thbu  Voi&  (1885-9.) 

Ruskin  had  given  many  glimpses  of  his  own  life  story  in  'Tors 
Clavigera."  Later  in  life  he  determined  to  write  a  series  of  remi- 
niscences v:hich  mig^t  form  a  more  oomplete  antobiogn^hy.  Th«M 
he  published  in  two  volmnes  under  the  title  of  "Praet«rita,"  or 
"Bygones."  To  this  he  added  a  volume  of  Correspondence  which 
he  called  "Dilecta."  In  his  jmfaoe,  dated  May  10, 1886,  he  wrote: 
— "I  write  these  few  prefatory  woHs  on  my  father's  birthday,  in 
what  was  once  my  nursery  in  his  old  house, — to  which  he  brought 
my  mother  and  me,  sixty-two  yean  sino^  I  being  thmi  four  years 
old.  What  would  otherwise,  in  the  following  pages,  have  been  little 
moie  than  an  old  man's  recreation  in  gathering  visionary  flowers  in 
fields  oi  youth,  has  takm,  as  I  wrote,  the  ndbler  aspect  of  a  dutifU 
offering  at  the  grave  of  parents  who  trained  my  childhood  to  all  the 
good  it  could  attain,  and  whose  memory  makes  declining  life  cheer- 
ftil  in  the  hope  (rf  bemg  soim  a|^  with  timn." 

In  view  of  such  a  charming  life-story  as  we  find  here,  it  seems 
somewhat  superfluous,  if  not  presumptuous,  to  write  any  other. 
And  yet  oar  own  brief  sketdk  is  but  a  commendation  of  the  story, 
told  as  only  Ruskin  could  tell  it. 

There  is  so  much  in  Praeterita  which  we  could  add  to  our  already 
voluminous  seleetiims  from  the  ooloosal  works  of  Ruskin  that  we 
feel  it  better  to  advise,  young  people  especially,  to  secure  the  reading 
of  a  copy.  It  can  be  found  (in  one  volume)  in  almost  any  good  pub- 
lic HlHvy.  It  win  be  foond  to  possess  all  ^  dtarm  of  the  mMt 
attractive  novel,  while  it  abounds  in  the  delightful  prosefoatiy  and 
philosophy  of  which  Buskin  was  the  greatest  master. 

We  f^tft  only  a  lefoenee  and  quotation  from  flie  Pbet,  George 
Herbert,  and  the  brilliant  passage  with  which  the  author  closes  the 
work.  In  it  he  refers  to  his  very  intimate  Amnican  frimd,  Prttf. 
CSttdsi  "EXbii  Norton,  to  wltom  we  an  UAi  is  dot  tiw  endit  ot  tag' 

4IS 


414  TES  RSUOION  OF  RV8KIN 

garting  to  its  distinguished  author  the  writing  of  this— one  of  At 
few  nally  hrilliant  autobiogcaphies  in  ihe  English  language. 

WHAT  cmagTiAifiTT  ist— oMMn  unamt  qvotbd. 

"I  find  numbers,  even  of  the  most  intelligent  and  amiable  people, 
not  knowing  what  the  word  (Christianity)  means,  because  they  are 
always  asking  how  much  is  true,  and  how  much  they  like,  and 
never  ask  first,  what  w(u  the  total  meaning  of  it,  whether  they  like 
it  or  not.  The  total  meaning  was  and  is,  that  the  God  who  made 
earth  and  its  creatutes,  took  at  a  certaiii  time  upon  the  earth,  the 
flesh  and  form  of  man;  in  that  flesh  sustained  the  pain  and 
died  the  death  of  the  creature  He  had  made;  rose  again  tfter  death 
into  glorious  life^  and  when  the  date  of  the  human  race  is  ended, 
will  return  in  visible  human  form,  and  render  to  every  man  accord- 
ing to  his  work.  Christianity  is  the  belief  in,  and  love  of,  God  thus 
manifested.  Anything  less  than  this,  the  mere  acceptuice  of  the 
sayings  of  Christ,  or  assertion  of  any  less  than  divine  power  in  ills 
Being,  may  be,  for  au^t  I  know,  enough  for  'virtue,  peace,  and 
safety;  but  they  do  not  make  people  Christians,  or  enable  them  to 
understand  the  heart  of  die  simplest  believer  in  the  old  doctrine. 
One  verse  more  of  George  Herbert  will  put  the  height  of  that  doc- 
trine into  less  debatable,  though  figurative,  picture  than  any  long 
ti^  of  mine: — 

Hast  tkM  aet  haard  that  mj  hori  3mm  aMt 

ThcB  let  me  tell  thee  a  atrange  atonr. 
The  Ood  of  Power,  ai  he  did  ride 
In  hie  majMtic  robea  of  slory, 
Baaolved  to  U^t;  and  ao,  one  day 
Ba  M  imeni,  ndiaaaiag  ta  tite  ww. 

The  Btara  hie  tire  of  liicht,  and  rinsa,  obtalaai 

The  doud  hia  bow,  the  Are  hie  apear, 
Tka  heavena  hia  aanra  mantle  gained. 
And  whan  they  aAed  what  ha  woaM  wear. 
He  aariM  airf  aaid  as  ka  tfd  fa. 
**Ba  had  new  etothaa  a-making,  haia,  batow." 

I  write  from  memory;  the  lines  have  bem  my  Issson  ever  ifaMt 

1846." 

CLOSING  WORDS. 

How  things  bind  and  blend  themselves  together  I  The  lail  tfiM 
I  saw  the  Fountain  of  Trevi,  it  was  from  Arthor'f  fathsr'a  romn— 
Joseph  Severn's,  where  we  both  took  Joannie  to  see  him  in  1872, 

and  the  old  man  made  a  sweet  drawing  of  his  pretty  daughter-in- 
law,  now  in  her  schoolroom ;  he  himseu  then  eaeer  in  finishing  his 
last  picture  of  the  Marriage  in  Cana,  which  he  had  caused  to  take 
place  under  a  vine  trellis,  and  delighted  himself  by  painting 
tb»  crystal  and  rahy  ^ttenng  <d  the  dinging  rhndel  Of  watir  on 


REUQIOS  IN  LIFE  AND  POETRY  41s 

of  the  Greek  vase^  l^nring  into  wine.  Fronte  Branda  I  last  saw 
with  Charles  Norton,  under  the  same  arches  where  Dante  saw  it 
We  drank  of  it  together,  and  walked  together  that  evening  on  the 
hills  above,  where  the  fireflies  among  Uie  scented  thickets  shone 
fitfully  in  the  still  undarkened  air.  Bow  they  shone  I  moving  like 
fine-broken  starlight  through  the  puiple  lesves.  How  they  e£onel 
through  the  sunset  that  faded  into  tnunderous  night  as  I  entered 
Siena  three  days  before,  the  white  edges  of  the  mountainous  clouds 
still  lighted  from  the  west,  and  the  openly  golden  sky  calm  behind 
the  Gate  of  Siena's  heart  with  its  still  eoMen  wordis,  "Cor  fnagi$ 
tiba  Sena  pandit,"  and  the  fireflies  everyiniere  in  tky  and  doad  ri»> 
ing  and  faUing^  mixed  with  the  MAtoiii^  aod  man  ktme  than 
theatan. 


MUSIC. 

Buskin's  Preface  to  Vol.  II  of  Bibliotheoa  Pastomm  ia  •&  abl* 

treatise  on  the  subject  of  Music.  He  says: 

"The  Um  of  noblenen  in  music  and  poetry  is  essentially  one. 
Both  are  the  necessary  and  natural  eroression  of  pure  and  virtuous 
human  joy,  or  sorrow,  by  the  lips  and  fingers  of  persons  trained  in 
right  schools  to  manage  their  bodies  and  souls.  Every  child  should 
be  taught  from  its  youth,  to  govern  its  voice  discreetly  and  dex- 
terously, as  it  does  ite  hands ;  and  not  to  be  able  to  sing  should  be 
'inore  disgraceful  than  not  being  abl«  to  read  or  write.  For  it  is 
<iuite  possifble  to  lead  a  virtuous  and  happy  life  without  books,  or 
ink;  uit  not  without  wishing  to  sing  when  we  are  happy;  nor  with- 
out meeting  with  continual  occasions  when  our  song,  if  right,  would 
be  a  kind  service  to  others. 

The  best  music,  like  the  best  painting,  is  entirely  popular;  it  at 
once  commends  itself  to  everyone,  and  does  so  through  all  ages.  The 
wont  music,  like  the  worst  painting,  commends  itself  at  first,  in 
like  manner,  to  ninety-nine  people  out  of  a  hundred,  but  after  do- 
ing its  appointed  quantity  at  miofaief  it  ii  foipittMii,  $aA  mm  modes 
of  miidii^  oonqmed.** 


V 


F0E1I& 


WhUe  the  fame  of  RoAin  w  a  pwee-poel  ia  univenally  recog- 
niMd  it  is  not  80  generaUy  known  that,  in  his  early  days,  he  wrote 
Zmi  poems  which  gave  promise  of  rare  poetic  genius  and  had  his 
S  not  turned  tow^  the  work  wWA  cdkd  f or  pioje.  itseemj 
miite  likely  that  he  would  have  ranked  among  the  gr«iter  poets  of 
S  worif  It  seems,  indeed,  to  have  ^^^'BottenJ^M.^^^ 
death  of  Tennyson,  he  was  openly  named  as  the  poeWanwata  of 

^A^iX  his  numerous  lines,  if  all  were  ooUected.  would  reach  Aa 
hulk  of  a  considerable  volume.  Some  of  them  aw  otjj^ 
high  Older,  althou^  written  in  his  earliest  years  of  litera^  work^ 
Saltzburg  was  written  in  his  sixteen^  ye«,  «id  m  184^  w^ 
Kuskin  was  yet  only  twenty-six,  he  wrote  the  fine  poem  on  Tha 
SShaLuse-the  whole  of  m  th^e  page. 

Of  this  poem  he  wrote:  "These  versea-.  .  .  •  Jf^^^^ 
I  attempted  in  any  seriousness  were  nevertheless  wtremely  earnest, 
S^^,  with  more  boldness  and  simplicity  than  I  feel  able  to 
tb  real  temper  in  which  I  began  the  b«t  work  of  my  hf^ 
"SaUte  and  Elephanta"  is  the  poem  whidi  won  for  h.m  the 
«^Newdig.ta  |ri»  at  (Wort  and  is  written  in  nsarly  800 

^The  Broken  Chain"  is  a  lengthy  poem  of  a  life's  rtory.  reflecting 
the  Author's  own  experience,  written  at  different  times  in  five  parts 
^ngXJear.  the  author  bei^g  only  twenty-four  when  ne 

Tn  Copter  VIII.  Preterite,  Ruskin  gives  an  analysis  of  Poetry 
J^^Z  his  mind  was  "^^y^-'  The'^ 
K  t^  f.ll;'^beS;gt?S^^^  _  ^e 
Mount  by'  heart,  and  half  the  Apocalypse  1^^^,  ^ 

of  tutorship  either  in  the  Majesty  or  OmpMty  of  wwds. 


RELIGION  IN  LIFE  AND  POETRY  4if 

BBMBMBBANGB. 

(1887.) 

WhtB  the  pluieti  roll  nd  thraosh  th*  rtirtniw  of  Bigh^ 
When  the  moraing  bedews  all  the  Undaeape  with  tt^U^ 

When  the  high  ma  of  aooB-day  is  warn  oa  tht  UIL 

  .     ..  .  . 


I  to**  t»  tort  oat  o'er  the  saKh  aad  the  ri(7, 
9tK  aataiv  to  Uad,  aad  smm  tonely  as  I; 
Wlatmr  ia  aatai*  Mst  tovriF  I  *s% 
Bu  a  f«iet  Oat  iMaOs  the  rciailiisiiui  at 


Bememlier — remember.   Thoae  onlj  eaa  knew 
How  dear  ia  remembrance,  whose  hope  ia  laid  low; 
Twaa  iike  eloads  in  the  west,  that  are  gorgeous  atlU, 
When  the  dank  dews  of  evening  fail  deadly  and  chilL 

XOo  the  bow  in  the  doad  that  is  painted  so  bright,— 
Uko  Oo  fotos  01  ao  BighHBgato.  hsaid  Oroagh  tho  i 

Bwost  to  rwiiatiaaes,  Mt  aad  Ooart  It  bi^ 
Wm  fnasaibtaBW  to  all  tttt  wwIbsHi Iw  awT 


Ura  AND  IHBATH  WITHOUT  HOPB. 
(188T.) 

{Tk4  Oy|M<««.) 
HUi^  Ika  waadering  tribo,  no  rerereaeed  sMm 
Attests  a  knowledge  of  the  Power  DiTias. 
B7  these  alone,  of  mortato  most  tsrissa, 

Are  priest  and  pageant  met  with  oatf  scorn ; 

To  all  mankind  beside,  throngb  earth  and  Af, 

Is  breathed  an  influence  of  Deity. 

To  that  great  One,  whose  Spirit  interweares 

The  pathless  forests  with  their  life  of  leares; 

And  lifts  the  towly  blossoms,  bright  io  birth, 

Ont  of  the  oold,  black,  rotUng  chamel  earth ; 

Walks  OB  tte  moon-bewildered  waves  by  night. 

Breathes  ia  Oo  BMiaiag  breese,  bums  in  tho  irialM  Mtt 

Fewb  the  yooag  ravms  when  they  cry ;  nplifto 

The  psle-l!pped  clouds  along  the  monntaia  eliftat 

Movea  the  pale  glasier  on  his  restless  path; 

Lives  in  the  desert's  universal  death, 

And  fills,  with  that  one  glance,  which  aoao  riaia 

The  grave,  the  dty  and  the  aoUtnds. 


Oh,  life  most  Hke  to  death!  No  mother  grill 
Lifts  the  light  fingers  of  her  dark-eyed  drild 
In  early  offered  prayer;  no  loving  one 
Curtains  ihe  cradle  round  with  midnight  oriaoBt 
Nor  gnidea,  to  form  the  Mighty  Name,  the  alipa 
Aad  early  murmurs  of  unconstHons  lips. 
No  revermd  sire,  with  talea  of  heavenly  tmUi, 
Instmcts  ths  awsd.  attentive  ear  «t  youth. 
Threogh  Hfe's  short  span,  wtetsror  diaaee  boiUa. 
No  hope  can  Joy,  ao  fear  eaa  gnasl  or  gM», 
No  trust  supports  ia  daastr  or  4agpair; 
OiM  hath  ao  solaoib  agoay  aa  pMiar. 


Th*  kMt  an  )o«t  forarer,  Md  Uie  fivn 

b  M  a  ^ikacM  dMp^  wImbw  boo*  cu  mm. 

n*  kini  w  at  ifni,  M  tkir 

Uk»  dnuM  at  tewM,  lato  ttat  fiMifal  itafc. 

(Ml!  Unn  what  worda  an  they  whoae  peaetftd  fMMV 

dan  aootha  tha  twllifht  tima  of  terror'a  bonr; 

Or  dtcck  tha  frighted  gasp  of  faintinc  breath; 

Or  clotha  with  calnneM  the  cold  lipa  of  4tMki 

Or  qneneh  the  lira  within  the  frensied  tya, 

When  it  lint  dreana  the  dreama  that  aarar  4tet 

O  Orava,  bow  fearful  ia  thy  rlctorjt 

O  Death,  bow  dread  thj  atiiig,  wbM  aat  to  te 

la  the  laat  h^  

■Mk  tmOk  toMk  talaad  which  wot  iwiiwi 
PiMt  m  ttt  iNdt  Mt  w  a*  aigr  nttM. 


BKnUPTIOlf  POB  niDIA. 

<18».) 

"Night'a  fttfnl  viaiona  tj~> 
lika  antomB  latTai^  «ad  fade  tmm  faaer^  tfa^ 
80  ahaU  tha  Ood  of  idght  aad  mutj  4art 
Hia  day-beame  throagh  the  caTema  of  tha  haait; 
Strike  the  weak  Idol  from  ita  anci«it  ttolMk 
Aad  Tlndlcata  tha  taavit  for  Hia  awSt 
Not  win  ha  ioiW  May."  .... 

"It  cornea,  the  hallowed  day, 
Whoae  dawn  ahall  tend  that  robe  of  fear  away; 
Then  ahaU  tha  tortariag  rpella  that  midaight  kaaw 
Far  In  the  doreo  della  «l  Mont  Mam, 
Then  shall  the  moan  of  ftenaied  hymna,  that  M|hti 
Down  the  dark  Tale  where  Gnnga'a  watna  iM% 
Then  shall  the  idle  chariot'a  thunder  ceaae 
Before  the  steps  of  them  that  publish  peace. 
Already  are  they  heard, — bow  fair  and  fleet! 
Along  the  mountaina  flaab  their  bounding  feet  I 
Disease  and  death  before  their  preaence  fly: 
Troth  ealla,  and  gtaddeaed  ladla  haara  tha  ay, 
Dtoarta  tha  daihaaad  paA  htr  tethan  trad, 
Aa4  oaaha  ntmyOm  ftoa  tht  laeaiaata  CM. 


ram  path  to  god. 

lair,  tha  itelda  «f  earth  are  wide, 

Aad  tempt  aa  iafant'a  foot  to  otray: 
Oh!  kad  thy  lovod  one's  stapa  aaida, 
Where  tha  white  aKar  Hghta  hit  way. 

Around  his  path  shall  glance  and  gUd% 
A  thousand  shadows  false  and  wild; 

Oh!  lead  him  to  that  aurer  Ouide. 
Than  sire  serene,  or  mother  mild, 

Whoae  childhood  quelled  the  age  of  pridab 
Wheat  Oottaad  oaHat  tha  HMt  ohM." 


MMU0ION  IN  Un  Am  fOETBT 
*l»«iaitt|riMHHl«(lm  oatoM. 

Mi  Mir  Mki  auM* 

ITwwti  kii  acid  kat*; 
rram  its  atMp  tkroM  of  lwy|y  |«U 

Thy  wml  AaU  atoqi  to  ■•• 
Bto  pitf,  tkkt  MOMt  b*  eoatrolM, 

Tntiriiig  to  God  froa  that— 

VHBRB  DBATB  I& 

(1840.) 

nebtn  tlM  flown  hath  falmt  haik 
_Wbuo  tho  bTMM  hath  balmlMt 
WteM  tho  dawa  halk  aaftaot  daw. 
Whan  ika  tanw  hNk  4mm  Mm 
nan  to  -  ■ 


Whm  tho  ■aaOa  atmaa  «l  IttaAlaik 
ThTongfa  onr  taaia  Oat  tew  ao  fkat^ 

Have  tho  doepaot,  oirftaat  rinUag 

And  tho  fDllMt  molody; 
Wboio  tho  eiown  of  hopo  to  noarMt, 
When  Oo  toIoo  of  Joy  is  dearest. 
Whiio  tho  heart  of  yoath  to  UahtaaL 
Whew  tho  Hfht  of  to**  to  f 

Skaio  to  death." 


OHABnm 
(1842.) 

/  Cor.  IS. 

CM  loldea  the  stare  their  wandeilv  wm. 
Ho  seoBS  to  cast  their  courses  fMs^  ' 

Bat  binds  onto  himself  for  aye; 
lad  all  «heir  diains  are  Oharltie. 



The  Tiolets  Utht  the  lonely  Un, 

Tho  fmitfnl  farrows  load  tta  hai 
Ifanis  heart  alone  to  sterile  otOL 

Vor  lack  of  towly  Oharitto^ 

Bo  wallis  a  waaiy  vah  wllU»— 
No  lamp  of  tore  in  heart  hatt  feat 

Hto  otepa  an  death,  his  Ooaghte  an  ibL 
Vor  to6k  of  gsBtte  Oharitie. 

2>U|*tar  of  Baafea!  wo  dan  not  Oft 
no  «anaas  of  oar  eyes  to  thee; 

Ofel  pan  aad  Pad  deatiaJuil  gift! 
Oh!  spotless,  perfect  (^laritie! 

Tot  foraenradi  thy  brow  ia  etoased 
VfXth  blood^rops  from  the  deathftf  tMk 

Wo  take  fran  thite  onr  only  triMt 
Ofcl  4Hm  ChaiMoi 


THE  RELiaiON  OF  RVSKIN 

Ak\  B«p«.  BadonaM,  lUtk— (all  Hk«  MUk, 
Bnt  Lot*  n  nftrUstiQff  crown  nortfwth ; 

ItealM  to  Hoptb  Md  VMtttM*.  sad  IWtt, 
m*  •>  iMafi  iMfMH,  taMMh  Mi  MMk 


«n  OLD  nUMAKi 

(MM.) 

iM  uk  M  wky  miM  •jtm  m*  taft 
So  dufcly  on  tho  MB. 

White  OtiMM  IMt^  tiM  HCM  Um 

That  toDgdwn  on  tho  tea. 


Tho  tarn  hUla-thof  aootht  tho  rigk* 
ThMMIi 


Who  thofo  ham  hopo,  or 

Bat  I  a  tovalwi  path  havo  trod~ 

A  hoaeontew  career; 
My  hopo  hath  toag  bota  aU  witt  Qti, 

Aai  al  wf  haaM  !■  fcufc 

Hm  4oop  hjr  day.      hema  Iv  aWtti 


Of  «Mft 

Wn  aan  than  gate,  or  golf,  or  rani, 
I're  proved  that  then  maj  bo 

Wono  treadtery  on  tho  alMttMt  ImI^ 
Than  Tariabto  aea. 

▲  daager  mmo  Oaa  bay  ar 
▲  laliiliiii  Bon  oakiad— 

n*  twaehiiy  o(  a  goreiaed 
And  an  nncoremed  mind. 

The  treaeheiT  of  the  deadly  mart 
Where  human  oonls  are  aold; 

The  tiaadery  of  the  holtow  heart 
That  anMUM  aa  «•  hoM. 


holy  hOlB  aad  qaltt  lakaa— 
1  wberetore  ahonU  I  ' 


Tke  memory  of  a  etreamlet'e  dla. 
Through  meadowa  daisy  dreat— 

Another  might  be  glad 
Aad  yot  I  cannot  r«at 


eaaaot  nat  aata«  it  bo 
naiiath  the  Aoc^yaid  yairt 
tat  Ood,  I  think,  hath  y«t  iw 


BEUQION  IN  LIFE  AND  POETRY  4U 

Aal  tkMvfoN  witk  •  vriat  will, 
I  biMtto  tk«  MMS  sir. 

JM  «thMt  Mtk  IMt  Mtif*  n4. 


"b  ihi  oMsutsd  tey« 

Mrth  ilill  If  Ml  I 
TMr  ihMti  «(  ifalii  II 
Aat  tt«  fitai.  tklnur  In  «l 

Ito  Maw  IMS  a»Mltv  of  Us 
MtB  Mt  TMr  God  spsr*  y**,  to  wtm  Bs  flM« 
Ms  dksrs  aor  ihsdow  of  man's  criM,  or  fM»| 
:  IS  imkk,  mm  to  azplste: 
IV  Mi  ■»  —tiunsd  with  bis  gavar 

— rroa  PMB  «•  Tks  Ai9tr 


Vn  OBANDB  OHARTBSnn. 

O  mMWt  btloTcd,  mino  sras  sgsia 
Bahold  tiM  twiHght's  osagniM  stsiB 
▲long  thy  peaks  sii^rs. 

0  aMont  balovad.  thj  froatlsr  was>S 

1  ssok  with  s  rsHflions  hMl* 
Aad  ssTtnat  iimkn. 

VWf  MSt  Mk  '■UM  tk$  itatSOT  utM/'* 
flMh  tkeo^  as  holy  mb  a(  aid 

Aaiid  Oa  dMtrt  (oaad:— 
■oeh  ^adntas,  as  fn  Hia  thv  Mt  _ 
Who  with  them  :iiTv<<igh  tha  teilMi  iMl^ 

lad  CBHiiiaiaad  all  aivaad. 

hamt  U  Hia  win  waia  aa^ 
Va  giva  aa  auaaa  hare  tor  sbm^ 

Aad      tha  torraat  aida 
9*  Ind  BB  at  Ba  laada  Hia  fads 
« iriM  daar  ttiMgk  tia  laMly  nala 

la  paaoSk  natarriflad. 

■aaa^  fMai  the  tUaga  that  litltf 
Xka  cartridge  on  her  imrfla  at'^ 

na  msmot  In  hia  den, 
Qod  wiu  a  wofahip  ssore  rsa^aadt 
AvmmjinSm  Oaa  Be  aaa  lad 


THE  BMUeiOS  or  RVBKm, 


AIM  l»r  Ml  «to  tatk  mm 
or  gfmttfal— i  Mr  mMwWi 
9mt  wiua  ngrtto  mfM, 
Till  all  Qod'a  k>Tt  can  mrMly  wta 
Om  H«l  liMi  tamt  fMa  Is  ita. 


T*'  M  at  Mt. 


to  ««  •jJJJ»J^ 


it  Mb 


Tk  tiMeh  m*,  Ood.  •  au>dw  tkMitkt, 
Ui't  I.  «t  all  TbT  Mood  bM  boMkt, 

!^«aat  hoMorabl*  ^  

tUa  a«t  IM*  mm  to  «oa«Ma. 
ntkw  MM  ii  hm 


  .  •  peM*  whM 

n*  atan  aai  daad*  a  ooniaa  wlUA  

Tl»  wild  •••-w«T««  rejoice  without  •  rnA, 

And  rw  wUbODt  •  pusioa;  h«tt  the 
Of  Death,  apoD  this  ghntlj  eliS  and  aaam 
la  brekan  twrrmon,  to  bind  tgmin. 
Nor  lalle  oor  iooaM.   Bark !  •  rolea  of  paia 
giMenly  ailenoad  —a  q«tek  pMrtW  mm, 
Ttet  atattka  rest,  bat  graata  «ot  Ubocly^ 

*'aaJnrh?tIlJr^»eB  tbeaa  b:  •  tbelr'^laaa  al 
It  Diatk'a  captiTity  be  aleeplaBa  tbua, 
Vmt  ttan  «fe»  M  «a  tt  — 


\  Sm03M  THE  BAMBl  AIM. 

(IMS.) 

Hare  job  la  bcavaa  no  hope— on  earth  no  ear^ 
No  foe  in  bcU— ye  thitt«i  of  atya  aat  alaU. 

^  ^   .         ^  ^ 


la  *ata^ 
tiM  very  ahadewa  chat  ye  leek 
IWr  ala^ei.  write  alone  the  weated  wan 
Xaar  OMHiemnation.    Thr    foqet  not,  Aey, 

Their  9r*etti  fwetVaB  ^  de>eflnid  taU. 
Nar  iwelaaB  paftah*  Ba( 


Mmm0K  a  ufm  urn  poetmy 

«aii  «*•  hMt  tta  mki  tMr  fiiilllia» 
Ai  H»  MM  tto  fMwli.  u4  tMr  M 

Aai  vl0W      tk«  butt  tMtfntrj 

Ot  tavpy  wollMi  magt  tk.  .  wttt  «■  TkMb 
Urn  Tkea  M  bl«Mlng  whm  TkM  ■■▼'■t  Tkf  Mo«iff 

Wi>t  Thoa  Bot  Mk»  Tky  fair  amllw  wtatot 
MM  u<  Tiik  turn  Thy  tIm  far  geoi 

Bmtht  is  tkk  IWBU  tat  ita  IMat 


MONT  BLANa 
(1848.) 

A        took     iwcrd  from  tho  toI*  by  niikt, 
What  tb*  .    .ttt  Taniah  and  tk*  winda  ara  atoyad, 

Wqm^     di.    .  HMvan'a  aarmaot  Mi^t. 
A  chat  bath  no  atan— •  aiigktjr 

-max.  turm  YmmtnUf  ili»l>yai, 

BbK...      tha  •  4iabla  natt.  Tha  ptaaato 
it-     ^  laaet  ladan  ■oonbaaMO 

f%f       3itl!       HaOati'-^a,  ttoop  by  tiMf^ 
It  wi     tha  dawn  aloMt 

I  u      ^   i.r        yat,  an     *rdly  luwws 

IW  daltc  t     by  what    :  takaa  away 
the  aaa^'a  parpla  dacp  Ung  into  day. 
t;!<   for  a  tlBM,  it  kaapa  tea  •wtul  not. 

Oar   M  tha  pnwhat'a  pila  oa  OanMl'a  er«at: 

naa  teUa  tha  ftra  of  GoA^Fw  oC  or  Mtf, 
laMk  aai  tka  Ml.  wiio  wanh^aft  taaqr 
Tirt  hai^        la  tha  aotaiag  aky; 

Aad  the  atrong  piaaa  tbair  ntaaat  rldfca  rear, 

Movod  lika  an  <hoat,  in  anfel-iaidad  fear 

Aad  aodden  faith.   So  atanda  the  ProTiiim-  * 
Of  Ood  areond  na:  myatrry  of  Lov 

Obaeure,  onchanging,  dailtneaa  and  defe< 
iBapaaetrabl*  and  nnmoved  abora 

Tha  «allay  of  our  watch ;  bat  which  aha). 
Tha  light  of  HaaTae  haiaaflaiv  vhaa  thi» 
Of  waadaring  atara,  that  fata  Ato  ritfK 

Dtoa  to      Igaalai  tl  ~ 


4M  ^BE  BSUaiON  OF  BUSKIN 

BIBUOOBAFHT. 

The  intndnfltery  hMding  and  oomment  to  eadb  of  th*  wwfa 
tiMtted  in  1h»  fnegoing  pages  provide  the  reader  with  m  Mosnnt 
of  their  respective  character,  occarion,  aimi  and  data. 

If  to  these  be  added  the  following  titiM  and  datei  we  have  a  geiH 
eral  Ruskin  Bibliography.  Not  that  we  give  the  particulars  ox 
every  article  he  wrote,  from  hia  infancy,  and  the  various  editioiM 
throudi  which  they  passed.  If  these  minor  matters  are  desired 
they  may  be  found  in  a  good  edition  of  Ruskin's  Works  or  m  Col- 
lingwood's  Life  of  John  Ruskin.  ....  i. 

ft  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  many  of  his  mmor  works  wwe, 
whoUy,  or  in  part,  a  re-issue  of  portions  of  the  Iwger  worksj  as  for 
instance  "In  Montibus  Sanctis"  is  taken  f lom  'llodem  PMnto"^ 

"On  the  Old  Road"  is  the  title  given  by  Ruofan  tp  a  oolketaoa  of 
his  miscellaneous  writings,  rented  and  paUishad  in  two  ^wmm. 
GoUeetion  of  Poems.  1828-1845. 


The  Elements  of  Englidi  Prosody.  1880. 
The  Black  Arts.   1887.       Arthur  Burgws.  1887. 
Letters  Addressed  to  a  College  Friend.  i840^. 
Time  Letters  and  an  Essay  on  Literature.  1836|41. 
Laoni:— A  Legend  of  Italy  and  a  Letter.  1888. 
Fuwn  on  Art  and  Architectura.  1888-8. 
Sondes  AcreBtes,— Reading  in  Hodani  Piiiitia.'' 
Papers  on  Turner.  1867-ol. 
Papers  on  Geology.  1858-1884. 
Art  Catalogues  and  Guides.  1870^ 
Prefaces  to  Various  Books:— 

Thm  rtwr  ct  U*.  1888.  Boaddde  Songi  of  Tasctny,  1884.  0»™" 
TMlXlli^n*.  188^  UWc.  1888.  _B!niB..h  BdjO*!  of  J^ttaf. 
1886.   National  QtUm  llss*n«fc    wB.  DniitHM  vtamnm  l«  ifc. 

IV.  1876-1888. 

TIm  Guild  of  St  Oaorge.  .  . 

of  thi  OMwS.  1877.  Gonml  BtatMnt  1881  Mutei^  Bo- 

pottUMl 

to  the  Clergy.  1879. 
MB  Lcttm,  Wman  aai  Om 


HMmt  wd  Oritldnk  Tho  OwtM  of  A^^fc  ISeM.  mmmmxur 
  1857-aO.  MlBor  Wotta  apon  Ait  IflniL 


Kotfli  <m  Natonl  Bdenoa.  1884-71. 
^^'ISZ'mi  Hi  ««nnn.TTf  Vmuf.  MM. 

An  Osfofld  Laetare.  1878. 


INDEX 


na  Unea  prlntad  la  ot^tali  ttte  4*  tttiM  «f 

Aanrn.  M«Ma  mi,  141 ;  death  ot,  14Z 

A  Oitiatmaa  Homily   •••••  .....»•••.•• 

A  ChrUtmaa  latter  about  Ghdatmaa  ?" 

A  crumb  of  Mloa  aa  tha  an  «(  QU   ±~ 

A  Uaaon  from  Boots   •  •••••  5fi 

A  ■■tttHM     mmaaalfM   » 

Abraham   1" 

Abaolnta  Ffaadoaaaly  la  I>«rtk  "SJ 

Aeland,  Sir  Henry    ™ 

A^oa,  providence  and  bnman  "J* 

>  onte  perception  of  BoAln  

Attjjn.  from  dnat,  187 ;  Eve  and,  149. 

ADDioa  AT  Cambhimk   •  ™" 

AdTortiainf,  bo  eety  in   "•J 

AdTica  to  lOTera  •••  •  ••   • 

Aiod.  MbiaMai  to  tha  

Air,  Qmm  «caa   "g 

All  la  aO,  Ohrlat  la   

AB  IMUPI  ti       that  BelloTe  »...........»•.•••  «• 

Alpa,  leaaona  of  the.  140;  poetic  Unea  ot  the,  422. 

Amariea,  ideal  of.  Buakln'a  Tlew  of  V.   • 

American,  Woatan'  federation.  89 ;  the  world'a  eonfldenoa  ia,  41. 

Amletth  tka  Bible  of  ••••  -2 

Amoa   g 

An  InfalHbla  BaUgion   ?g 

Anar^.  a  Uw     death   JJJ 

Aadant  Ait  reH>luaa  Miiwa  Art  JiiHil   

 IM 

  '.'...."""...I.  

Apoealypa«  OBi  ilm  la  BaMa'a^  874  _ 

Apojaa.  iBMy  «c   :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::  S 

A^***^  PamMMi   g» 

▲icb.  atrantth  aal  boanty  lathe  ~ 

Arehitaet  of  llonntaiaa.  Tha   iSl 

AnAitaet.  tta.  AobM  not  Uto  la  elttja  

AaAlteMa  lha  aaat  human  of  all  Arts   

IliilUlaii  llnl  at,  29;  dmaa*  tmth.  80;  atady  of,  58,  384:  not  panM;- 

— *  hm—w       *»  ha*  m   


Aagala,  wingi  ot,  8a»t  GhlMNB 
Aailety.'  f eiathonibt  aad  


4*6  THE  RELIGION  OF  BVSKIN 

Anows  or  tbb  Chjlcc  187,  IM 

^rt,  awthor  and  critic  of,  25 :  works  of  Tamer  to  Nation,  27 ;  new  tlieoty  of, 
28 :  •tody  <tf,  68 ;  no  moml  end  in,  77 ;  oompariaon  of — Greek  and  Oliria- 
tian,  112;  future  of,  116;  cood,  162;  reHgion  and.  167;  testifies  of  God, 
17b;  Cormption  is.  281,  27S;  toTs  of  not  niewaiy,  28»;  traOt  in,  251; 

nni^  of,  273.   

Art  as  an  Aid  to  Bible  IntMpntatiOB  UT 

Art  graatar  thaa  SdsBee  ^ 

Art  fitts  and  Moral  ObaiMttr   806 

Art  in  Religion  m  (ailnrs   112,  U« 

Art  Is  life   «• 

Artist,  the.  ennobled  by  production,  42 ;  function  of,  262 ;  wwjtUaa  mOta  lor, 

276;  religion  and.  286. 
Artists,  poor,  aided  by  Rnskia.  30 ;  how  they  are  made,  276. 

Aasimilatinc  knowledge  .......IB 

Astronomy,  ministry  of   •  •  _W 

AOsM  ia  Bmnm  BaMk,  Hf  ast  SOS 

AtfcsBMlaB  creed,  most  not  bs  bansd  tar  tfiprtiac  it  lOT 

Atonement  of  Christ   M* 

Attributes,  human,  divine  in,  91 ;  nlwwrs  dnivad  tnm  VMm,  9t> 

Authority  of  the  Bible   tSt 

Authority  of  law,  88 ;  of  gold,  88B. 

Authors,  Buskin's  (sTorito  •   ' 

AatlMi%  Ihik  HHOM  tar  Ola  baak    ** 

Babel,  tower  of    a6» 

Babes  and  Sucklings  

Baia,  aie  'sdentfatV.V. .*.*.*....*.'.   * 

Butabaa  preferred  

Barrow,  tiMOlogy  of  •   • 

Ba  suflcient  for  Thyself   ITT 

Baanty,  Christ  and  law  of,  26;  dlflicalty  and,  78;  truth  and,  79.  262;  Ideaa 

of.  79 ;  divine  power  for.  86 ;  centred  in  the  heart.  92 ;  love  and.  99 ;  moral 

Judgment,  atandard  of.  100;  social  culture  and.  102;  pride  and,  106; 

sensuality  and,  106;  of  grass,  121;  of  leaf,  of  dood.  147;  lamp  ot,  206^ 

221 ;  typea  of  in  nature,  221. 

Beauty  of  Keligion  in  Wumsn  MT 

Baaaty  In  Naitaral  thtaga  US 

Bnnty  la  Nature,  Mpteaaha  «t  tta  DMaa   W 

Be  snflldent  for  Thysrif   17T 

Beecher,  H.  Ward   S 

Beever,  the  MissM,  tender  aervioe  of  to  the  poor  8SS 

Believe,  all  things  to  him  tba*    174 

Best  things  Free    124 

Bethlehem   148,  2P^ 

Better  Houses  for  Men  and  Women  i-^ 

Battiiw.  wMta  M*  Tlea  •<  •z:*U";u"fi 

BeMvotaMS,  Baakhi'*  m  «,  M 

Bible,  training  in  Ott,  10;  ohaptem  learned,  11 ;  motiier  took  RusUn  six  timea 
through  It.  12 ;  no  departure  from,  64.  416 ;  reverence  for.  68 ;  the  supiemt 
book,  60;  mother's  inatmction  in  restated,  60;  great  men  inspired  by, 
70;  Shalopeare  and  the.  70;  truth  of,  02,  126,  808;  mountains  and  tha, 
141 ;  Eagle's  nest,  176 ;  books  of  the,  194 ;  meaning  <rf  the.  194 ;  need  o( 
knowing  the.  106 ;  Influence  of,  106 ;  Art  as  an  aid  to.  197 ;  honest  readers 
of  the.  186;  history  and  literature  of  tha,  100;  towers  «f  Hm,  262;  every* 
thing  is  the,  988 ;  weigh  words  of.  SSOt  Tealee  aad,  MO;  Koraa  aad  Um^ 
288;  not  rapetaaMMtad  book,  2eS;  taok  aai  Oe,  HI:  hadgikac  tmU 
«t  m  UT;  AMkNHr  at »:  t»  «WM»  tat  «Mt  IMli «f  tti^ ) 


INDEX  4>7 

Pit* 

Bible  of  Amieni   00,  193 

Bible  Injanctiona  to  Women   872 

Blbliocmthj   42A 

BMi»  iHtasn  oa.  808;  «(         808,  SSSL 

BMi  Md  tke  tubum  Bfe  827 

VM^  Mite  better  thu  tMr  picfuiM    185 

Blr^  at  Ohitat  290 

«lsi7.  do  BM  atey  it  baatM  jm  fH  ttw  wont  «C  ■umH.  807 

BlMMd  an  the  PhoimIhw   181 

Blood,  boofht  by   422 

Body  end  Soal  riee  or  fell  together   SB8 

Body,  effect  of  life  on,  in  beaven,  108 ;  effect  of  the  fall  on  future,  103. 

Book  of  Oeneaia    885 

Book  of  Job  and  The  Sermoa  on  the  Meant  (*••  M)   125 

Bnata^  Ohulottik  m  tt*  Stfta  him^t  208 

Brook*.  PhilUpa    8 

Browninc  8 ;  qnotatiM  tw,  SI. 

Browninga.  The   18 

Bryant   12 

Bnckland,  the  Qeologiat   10 

Build  for  your  Comfort  and  for  the  Wayfarer  263 

Building,  moral  Tirtoea  of  231 

Bonymn,  a  famttt  Mtiwr   s 

Barfeai.  illuelrator  at  Bnikia'a  WmMb  880 

Buna.  Robert   12 

Butler,  Mn.  JoaepUae  B.   8 

Boylnc  the  influence  of  266 

By  the  Good  we  lira,  by  the  bad  we  Di«  854 

By  Searching  we  caaaat  8b4  rat  CM   180 

Byroa   12 

CaniBf  of  Matthew  297 

Calvary,  Ohriat  and  184 

Cana,  Marriage  at    158 

Oa'wmanm    145 

CkKltal,  Ita  tunotiott   47,  808 

Oardinal  Manning,  frleadahip  with   68 

Oarpaodo  .*.«•.••••••••••••••••••.••••••.•••••.•*••■••••.•.•••••••...  865 

OUtftt,  iU.     17.  M.  B7i  Jdaad  handa  with,  84;  Us  preteteoea  of  BHUa% 
wkta,  86;  Us  tatk  ao  ssmw  to  Rndda,  65;  Cavoitts  wotIi  «C  Bas* 
kiB<klTB:  mmtMttjfiAm  •t,  801. 888;  wotk  IssbHiiI  ta, » 
OathoUe,  gift  ta  etufc,  mt  WmMm  sat «,  88k 

Oaoaea  of  War  ..125 

Oaataiy,  Twentieth,  lived  to  aee  its  dawn   71 

Change,  in  religloua  life.  55,  114;  in  Nature  eternal,  81. 
Oharacter,  Rnakin'a  Moral,  56;  language  and,  171;  art  and,  888^ 
Charity,  Joaiiee  and,  21,  265;  greater  than  aU  btaldea,  420. 

Charlota  «<M  IM 

Cftaiiatta  Bn8i%  as  tta  saraB  brffht  ttais...... ........ ..............  208 

Cheerfnineaa  in  the  graaa   121 

Child,  father  of  the  man,  77 ;  duty  of  tke,  884. 

OUM,  aver/,  ehonld  be  taught  to  aing  418 

OhUttood  Character   888 

CUIdhood,  youdi  and.  of  RuaUn,  8;  truth  and.  77;  Christianity  and,  191; 
Chriatmas  and,  878. 

OMIdren'a  guardisB  Angela  816 

Choice  of  a  Pemuaat  Baan  .....................•.••..»•..<•••.•>...•  888 

Choice,  the  power  aC   88 

-    tatto>»*t«H«M  Mw^tsMwHa  Hi 


4aS  THE  RSLIOION  OF  BUSKIN 

Pat« 

ChriM  in  Natnnl  Smneiy  288 

Cbrtot  was  All  in  All  to  Mrly  Gbriatiuia  247 

Cliriat,  laws  of,  neceaaary  to  beauty,  fM;  men  aell  him,  S8;  forgiveneaa  ct, 
68 ;  Ufht  of  .the  world,  the,  71 ;  prayer  of,  96 :  the  risen,  112 ;  not  repra- 
MiM  to  wt,  113;  tlw  BOOBtaiBa  and,  118;  temptation  and  tranalgnim- 
<l«a  «(,  119^  14*;  aermoB  on  the  mount.  124;  Galrary  and,  184;  diTinitjr 
of,  144;  atonement  of,  144;  pewion  of,  168;  girer  of  ligbt,  179;  Hght 
of  the  world,  188 ;  worda  of,  qooti>:,  194,  287 ;  person  and  office,  240 ;  rock, 
righteoosneaa,  hoUneaa,  liberty,  wiadom  of,  249;  Ua  taadiinc  perrerted, 
256;  the  liliea  and,  267;  meaning  in  worda  of,  296;  Hvatt  to  aa^  ST; 
couaina  of,  298 ;  Ua  way  the  only  true  way,  868. 

Chrlat's  Law  above  Money  898 

Christ's  Method  the  best  for  tlie  Nation  w4 

Christ's  Teaching  about  Money   •••  ■g 

Christian  art,  compared,  112;  taught   UB 

ChrtMtaa  Catholic  Kaakto  daissad  «•  ha  •   » 

ChtMiaii  Poeta  and  aonf-birda   80B 

Chriatian,  the,  why  lores  nature    28B 

Christian  Truth,  German  philoaophy  and   128 

Christianity  appeals  to  individual  aonl,  248;  eorraptiaii  of,  249;  influenoa  of 
story  of,  til,;  what  it  is,  414. 

Christianity  written  in  Deeds   

Christmas,  877 ;  usury  and,  881 ;  a  homily  of  88» 

Church,  Rnakin  a  believer  in  the,  47;  the  Epiacopal,  236;  ornament  of,  238; 
roAof  tiMk  804;  ■MaBiag«<tha  word,  4(n. 

Church  Walla  as  Hdneatota  •  «• 

Churohea,  of  marble,  215;  inseriptiaw  aad  vUbum  to,  222;  daftiwMBt  of, 
238 ;  union  of,  408. 

CivillaaUon,  reUgion  and   *• 

Clergy,  Letters  to  the,  61 ;  teach  wliat  ttay  wish  to,  86. 

Close  of  a  great  Life— Turner  lU^ii'  Si 

Cloaing  words   70,  71, 

Clothing  the  Needy   *^ 

Cloudy  daya   «•  ;ii"iJi'  JSi 

Ckrada,  God  in   •  288,  ^ 

Ooau  Wmauaun  ^ 

<Mlac»  and  telooB   25 

(Maifdca  •  •  ••••  8Sr 

OrtBttgwood,  6,  18,  25:  duMNn  biographer.  »i  m  BmUafa  wW—  1^ 

183;  on  RnaUa'a  Joatnala,  828. 
Orior,  independaat  oC  immm  matdXf  UT;  mtnl  nHtIm  of.  Sit:  m  ilm^ 

Mire,  202. 

Coming  of  Christ    _~ 

Common  Forms  the  moat  aatnral  •  •••••  •••••  ~J 

OoMHOdoa  with  God  ■laiMiiy  to  sB  

CooUBOBlMB,  law  o(,  44,47;  MiM«C  48. 

Compete  for  the  Futnre    J2 

Competition,  -  law  of  death  •  •  

Coniaton,  Bnakin  at    .2 

Confidence  in  God,  lack  of   ~J 

Contentment  only  can  Possess   ••••  •••  

Contentment,  simplicity  and.  177;  knowledge  and,  203;  ptpfldaaaa  aad.  IW. 

Conrider  the  Work  of  Hia  handa   *™ 

Conadenca  ,..,,.,••,••.............•.••••♦•••••••••••••••••••••••**** 

Cook,  B.  T.,  qnotad   •  •  •   ^ 

Owmtla«  with  the  DlTina  ^ 

OmI  tt  feMMi  Car  A*   

CMtopk  «Mt »;  m. 


INDEX  4*9 

OoBfwtiautI  art.  dtteriontim  pwrtr  cC  

OoROiit,  NftUtSoB  not  po«Mi  t»  «k*  ••••  m 

Oomiption  u  Men  in  Art  SU 

Courtahip,  meaning  of  •   * 

Ooretoua  man  cannot  Inherit  IM 

OrcatioB  and  Macing — \  difference   U§ 

Craitor,  nwontain  Alps  and  U>^  187;  tMTail  ot  <tlM,  146;  the,  202. 

Creed  of  8t  Georce't  Grfld   •J''iy":"VMl"^"All^:'i:;i"  * 

Giwd.  BoiUa'k  early  home.  M;la«tr.(Mk  OB;  of  iril|ia^lBO:Ot«k,S0& 

Oieedi  MMwaited    88 

OilMk  lOS;  OaCt  4lie  wont  of,  lOlL 

Critici,  ft  eonuum  tanlt  of   ••••  TO 

ONMinc  the  bMT   .-•   IM 

OvoM,  the  MAter'a.  168;  power  of  the,  196;  taUng  up  the,  408. 

OnowN  or  Wrto  Outk   864 

Cmdilxiott,  "he   •  JJ* 

Cirrtala,  ■igiiUcincw  of  •   wS 

Cnrtlallofftapby   


«C  IMV  gUfliHty.  79;  o(  MMiieod,  4S. 

'     Mitflow  tmth  si 

Darwte,  z,  t',  Oontemporanr  of  BoaMn'a,  10. 

Darwinlam  181 

DaTid,  the  brook  atone  and,  108;  Buraal  ud,  lOT;  the  ahaphMd  222 

Dawn  oC  day   >  428 

Dawaon,  W.  J.,  qnoled   19 

Day  of  Geneeia    188 

Day  of  Ood,  eoadag  ^   68 

Daya,  wnAn  tt,  «T;  aa—t  dna  fcy.  488, 

Daaa  ta.  •  typo  of  Ooi^  ufir  148 

Daaa  Stuley,  s  eompetitor  o(  B«hte   10 

Death,  Aaardiy  and  Oompadtlaa,  IMM  «f   149 

Death  of  Aaron  and  Mom  141 

Death,  fear  of,  854;  taaiM       881;  6l8t  aUH*  «t  SHi  Ir  ava.  88tt 
otlngof,41& 

Debt   881 

Dadine  olArt  271 

Daaatatlaa  «<  the  Bom  oC  Woi*^  M8 

Deeda,  good  and  evU  808 

Deflaitloii  a  Baotto  810 

DeBnWon  of  Vahio   85 

Degradation  of  art  881 

D^ieea of  Perfaetioa  for  M aa'o  Sake   89 

Degieea  ct  Perfeetioa  and  Diyine  Order   SS 

Deity,  attribntea  of  the,  07;  takca  hnmaa  turn,  Itti  hMHt  «l  4tak  tlOt 
•temMy  of.  280;  iaflneuce  of  tha,  417. 

Dealga  in  Creation   181 

Deapiaa  not  oar  Toatt   STS 

DmUMT   810 

DaMiavMBt  of  Oharehaa  and  HooM  .....*..........**.........  288 

DofiiB  ana  Angela  oontMd  for  Ohildien   816 

Do»,  fMt  and  the  818 

DiaiMiiidB  »«d  Oold  do  not  make  Happtaeaa   802 

DidiHia,  Ohaa.   4t  84.  400 

Pifferenoe  of  Creating  and  Making   149 

DiScnlty  of  Speaking  truth  2I7 

Dileeto  418 

88 


I 


430  THE  RELIQJON  OF  RVSKIN 

DiMDMioii,  GtadMooe  and  Baikia  la  •  ^ 

IMthonwt  Trmdlng   ^ 

SMm^  Jwdw  and  Purity,  typa  «(.  W:  B«»«»L MdJByiMricn  <rf  Aa.  98. 
attribntea  cannot  be  repcaaMMi  ta  Ut,  US;  ■■••■■"•■•"■■b 

operation  with  the,  200.  ^ 

Divine  power  workinc  tor  beaoty  

Divine  and  Hnman  Architeotoie  •  ~ 

Divine  truth,  meaaage  of   

Divinity  of  Chrtot.  the  \:i::"':2'llL aS 

Diviaion  of  labar  aeiatfaa  mm  diviaiMjrf  m  

Divoree  of  Mia.  Boakla  and  muriaia  to  MUM*   21 

Da  Joatiea  and  Judgment  

DoetriM  of  Sacrifice  ^ 

Mag  aeeording  to  Conadence  •  2g? 

Dates  Cteod  and  ntopianiam   **} 

Domeeq.  Adele,  Ruakin'a  firat  love    • 

Dor*,  Ruakin  not  an  admirer  of   •  ••••  * 

Doubt,  Henry  Vandyke  qnotad  •  

DouMa,  Tennyaim  oo.  8*;  BmMmI^  ST. 

DiamaUc  action,  Baalto  aa  »  Mam  161 

Di— wind,  Banry   ^ 

Dnka  «rf  Aiiyle   ••   <m 

Dnat,  the  origin  of  life  not  in   ,2a 

Dag  ««  actoi«ai^^itJt^».'.  » 

Eagle'a  Neat,  the,  quoted  aa  evidence  of  religiona  mind,  66;  oa  wladofl^  TO. 

Baatlake'a  hiatory  of  oil  painting  

Eaay  popuUrity.  dangera  of  

Early  Teaehlag  of  the  te^taiaa  v  

Barth,  tiatt  aad  acttaa  af  ... » •  ♦ « ♦   '  '  3^ 

Eden,  gardoi  of   

Effect  of  Life  here  on  the  Body  in  Heavm  

Effect  of  the  FaU  on  the  futara  body  

Elementa  of  Bbmw  Ait  ••* i» 

BUaa,  Moaaa  aad   •  ••• 

mot.  Gaoige,  4 ;  on  Waay^  M. 

WSUA  vwica  of  Horeb  aad.  Ill,  »5  •»  «•  »•»*  "* 

Eloquence  of  Seven  lAmpa   W!.'12"'\'Jj"va"" 

Emenwn,  Carlyle  to.  III :  Ea»ay  on  Intdlect  quoted,  88. 

Employment  better  than  Punlriiment  ii* 

Encyclopedic  Wridnga  of  Ruakin    .TVlM 

Engraving,  art  of   •  *"****"*!!214 

Enrich  the  Templea   ••   »/_»  • 

Epiacopal  Church,  BuaWa  tiaiaad  ia,  M;  vnftn  oC,  «^        VUma  la.8W. 

EraaoC^BafA  m 

BiMna,  latter  by   3^4 

Error  In  Haman  Creeds  

Badiaa,  book  of  ma 

■ataam  of  Oraatar  Wecka  than  our  owa  

■tifaal  priaat  aad  lawgtfar,  tka  


INDEX 


Bternal  Tratb,  Rukin  fltad  with,  37;  a«MMtMad,  68. 

■ternltr.  428:  Uw  DeMj  mi,  417. 

BTHICS  or  TBB  DUBT   801 

BraniaUaU  beliefs  ehuted   

■rugeUatB,  morbid  prid*  ot   u7 

■fMlBg,  It  ahiOl  be  Hght  at  •™ 

Knr7  0mtBn«(CMia|oad  ^ 

BvMx  BCiB  fav  kto  wofk  ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••  -  aMMi 

■my  Mm  l>  Ito  Own    ^ 

■fwytUv  MMi  for  the  Arttat  276 

■iiijthi^  hi  *e  Bible     2ffi 

■rll  CM  oBly  prodnoe  UrU  286 

Bvil,  toed  end,  in  «1]  tUngt.  246;  choice  id,  247. 

Bzerciae  ia  Pley   »J 

Ezpe£«icy,  not  the  i«w  of  BesTtn  •  •« 

Wipl— tniy  Note*   •••••  •  .....fM 

■Mk  ITS:  tern  what  ther  «%  im   ^  «« 

 U8p  828 

-What  wt  an  2M 


IWiy  «MC7   «M 

ruth  Ike  Brtatnee  of  trne  Uf»   201 

BUth  inspires  for  Work   Ig 

Faith  and  hope  fail  like  death  .........«§ 

Koakin's,  at  cloae  o(  Ufi,  72;  aboT*  rHMoa,  102;  pleasaree  of,  411. 

raith  voluntary  *11 

Faithfulneea  to  Talent   

|\alaehood  always  revoMng.  80;  danger  of,  420. 
XUm,  «ad  tme  taatea,  M ;  In  romance,  «be,  181. 

VWi,  (ha  «.«.•.•.••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• • •• •••••••••••^■J 

WUm*t  St;  OooneHi  MM  ^ 

WV»m  •  7««f  f«rf%  nmr  milillit.  T;  Pad  •  Bad.  808. 

Vawoatt.  BMhin  oppeaed  t*  palHtirt  Wmmm  «C   

Faar,  terror  and  holy  J2 

PicnoR — Faia  and  Foot.  ^ 

Filial  Obedience  and  Parental  Duty   »• 

Feediaf  the  Hangry   

Finieher,  God  the  oaly   ™ 

FfaHNj,  Chaa.  O  ••••  fjj 

Flia  at  Ooala  on  tha  Bhan  v:.*"^-V.'i;**llir 

IlnnMBt,r-<the  Geneaia  Account  of,  128;  Cwtrwi  ot^  ia& 

Fkat  FlRse  to  nligion  »2 

FItMaa  of  Bplendid  Ohoreh  pniiMiH   ^ 

FIrrt  tMags  Fhat   277 

Florence,  Rnakin  at   ~* 

Flower,  Tree  and  Grace  .....«» 

Ftowera.  study  of,  820;  Mission  of,  324,  826;  death  and,  419. 

Ftowers  and  Biida,  and  the  Fotm  Uts  »7 

PergatHig  Gad  and  Pnnishmeat  286 

Food,  somethiat  taMv  ^ 

FoTS  Clavigeia,  iz;  when  wiftten,  80;  what  It  tanght,  31;  8t  Oeorge'a 

Guild  reported '.n,  48,  60;  explanation  of,  374. 
Fortunes,  large  ones  cannot  honestly  be  made,  88;  shoald  be  small,  44,  47. 

FonadatMHis  •  ^Hs 

Four  Theories  ahoat  the  Aatkarily  «f  lio  Bftto  


433  THE  RELIGION  OF  RU8KIN 

Fricndablp,  lemaaM  of  ...•....**..«....  964 

Fritwell.  J.  Hain,  qtwtti   408 

Fiwt,  dtw  and  th«   813 

ri7.  BUi.   8 

Fronde,  tb«  hUtortaa   802 

Fnilt,  IMVM  ud  sit 

FoBCtioiw  ot  IforaMH,  186;  «f  th*  aitirt,  SB;  ot  law,  S04:  ot  yiaj,  206; 

«t  raots,  820;  of  ptotftoM,  844. 

Fstan  of  Alt  la  Bdlgkma  Btiriea   lit 

Fdtm  mt,  BMkteli  ftoir  «<  tto   66 

CkUltaan  ItaekM^   8 

OalllM  145 

Garden  of  Eden  828 

Garden  of  God  fa  ^  NatioB   828 

Gehui,  lepraqr  flf   128 

Genealoir   826 

General  Prindplea,  General  Troths   75 

Oenenaitj  of  BnaUn  89,  40.  48,  06,  68 

OwMli  aeeoaat «(      Diy  hu4  188 

OeneeU.  Bible  ttuMm  httfat  with.  Ui  tta  IMi  tmtmot  la,  Mi; 

book  of.  885. 
Genius.  117;  of  Tmm^  88;  «C  Baakte,  ML 

Genitts,  Toathful  18 

Getbaemaae,  Jeana  la  20 

Gettinc  into  Debt  ;  861 

George,  Henry,  Rutkln  in  adranco  of   44 

German  PUIoaopby  not  necawaiy  to  ChriaUaa  Trath  126 


CHili,  ahoaM  eoowdt  lufcaw     to?*  ilidn  8 

Giotto  aa  an  Instaaea «f  NManni  ItMMM  228 

Oiono  ASS  Hia  wtm»  t»  Paboa  157 

Giotto,  arstem  of  18B 

Given  Uaht,  Cbrlat  the   lit 

GkMlatone,  W.  B.,  8,  10;  Rnakin  compared  with,  15;  Vlait  to  Hawarden,  68^ 

Gladstone,  Hisaes,  RoaUn  and   .'  68 

Gladstone.  Hisa  Mary,  Oorrsapondenea  with   40 

God  alwara  «ha  wamt  t» 

God  and  Mammom  ....888 

God  demanda  Great  TUafi  aC  Chaat  Mali  85 

God  designa  that  all  Maa  *Mdi  WaA  106 

God  in  the  Olooda   128 

God  In  the  Homa  228 

God  ia  Justiea  162 

God  boaois  the  work  of  Love   215 

God  Knows   887 

God  obedient  to  His  own  htm  ...SIS 

God  reTeala  Hinaelf  ta  the  Haavans  UI 

God  tha  only  Flaiahsr   118 

God  Tisibia  tiinmak  serrlee   188 

Ood,  (orgiTeness  of,  60;  not  a  dead  law,  65;  no  life  without.  66;  lored  tha 
worid,  71 ;  rimple  f^th  in,  72;  great  paintings  and.  78;  WMnessea  for,  80: 
pare  in  heart  sees,  08 ;  inflnitj  of,  96 ;  spirit  of  works,  Vf"  ererj  ereatnia 
of  ia  good  101;  fear  of,  106;  free  gifts  of,  124.  252;  the  il.mament  and, 
I  Jci-80;  «akea  as  at  our  word,  181 ;  as  Jodgn,  182;  «he  arddtaet  of  laosB- 
tains.  187,  42S;  Aza  of,  188;  waiaiags  oC.  141;  meia«ion  of,  151; 
thongkts  not  as  oua,  152;  Intaada  na  to  aia  bo(k  aldaa  of  ttlaga.  1B8: 
weik  ^  170;  ta  kaaw  Bte  know  thyasU.  US;  taiapls  of,  168;  ia ait^ 
175;  iMwat  888; sMMee and. 211 ;  tUksaand, aU;  trewaad, m|M> 
ia  aatn%  Mi;  iriadaa  vl,  Wti  irngmm  M;  tew  ii;  WBi 


INDEX 

■pMt     »T:  •  liAar,  808;  Jtwah  «<;  SU:  auin  «t  at;  th«  poor  aad. 

9M ',  pitpuod  for  tiMm  th*t  ton  Wm,  M  t  th»  MMnte  hm»  «B  I  «oi>- 

iUp  of,  421 ;  iBoaraatioii,  ratapUw  «C  «Ul 

Ood'a  iBttfwt  iB  Ifma't  Work  SIQ 

Ood'o  JnotlM  and  tho  Poor  Wf 

CM*!  own  Aeooaat  of  the  OrMtion  JSl 

Ood'o  PioridoMo  ia  all  Orgaale  Matara   100 

Ood'a  ProrMoa  ia  Natnia  adaptod  to  all  IM,  246 

Ood's  BwalatlOB  Law  lU 

OoA  Waya  «(  awiMai  aM  mufa  mmi  «C   SB 

Ood'a  WMaaiaBBaMitettaffaH«(«hanall  m 

Oodduaa  «(  lattfaw   SM 

Ooetho  It 

GoU,  happlnoaa  and.  801;  t»t  ilH8Miii  at  tMk 

Gold  pnfencd  to  God  888 

Go  id  en  axe,  tho     „.  8 

Good  aad  Bril,  Haaroii  and  Hall  2S8 

Good  aad  Bril  la  AU  TUaia  845 

Oood  iiaviaia  ia  Hon!  Ohaiaolar  .....17X 

Good  Moa  aad  thtir  Hoam   »....m..IUm 

Good  Aauarim,  Baakla  a  

Good  aeatatlBMa  lapwaaad  hr  aril  wmm  lOT 

Govoraataat  control  of  niarHaga  47 

Graft,  tha  ain  of  Jndaa   Wr 

Graaa  of  tho  Hold.  Ood'a  wiadom  ia,  119;  ntet  wa       ta It,  180;  fluiljitiiia !■  .180 

Orava,  Victory  of   418 

Gray,  Ifiaa  B.  0,  aflarwarda  Mm.  BaaUa  21 

Oiaat  Bodiaa  «bay  Law   888 

Onat  %ocka  ia  Art  matacv  M 

Qmtt  mm,  aia  laMlr.  80;  fiiiiiiaiii  aa4  MH 

Onat  ICIada  auke  wmaH  tUaaa  graat  .•.•••..4K 

Gnat  PoiatlBga  and  Ood'a  hoaor  ...........*......................,..... f| 

Gr«at«r  Ptoaaaro  in  BaaaU  lUatB   ........Xn 

GraadMaa  and  LUtteaaai   ....188 

Oraatawa  of  Mao   M 

Oraak  Art  oompand  with  QhriaHaa  Art  112 

Omk  goddaaa, 


OnwtkaC: 
Qolld,  It.  Oaoiio'a 

OaUt  ia  ia  Oa  will  «  8M 

Oypaiaa^  Paom  oa  tlM  ...4lT 

Hamlat  fon  la  Haakia^   ..874 

Hmiplneaa,  dependent  on  honeatr,     ;  not  la  dtaMiii  aad  lold,  808. 

Barriaon,  rrad'k,  hia  Ufa  of  Roridn  qootad  4.  88,  176,  808,  20» 

HaiOMBj  of  Body  aad  8ooI   868 

BarMflal  8 

ftlmIdaB.  Oladatnao'a  hoBM,  Bnriria  a  gatat  at  .....••.••..•••••••..ii 
araa,  hdl  and,  29B;  hope  of,  428;  UgM  of;  428. 

Ho  Bowed  the  Hfarena  .••••••••••••3W 

Heart,  para,  806:  Viitao— Athaaa  aa  tim,  IBBL 

Hd>rew  ProiAeta  and  poHtiaal  oaaaMV   •  ..•.•.**.  88 

Habtewa,  the  book  of,  aa  litmtHt  800 

BadgtiMg  Bible  reading  808 

Hell-Sra,  neaning  of  .....SM 

Help  MB  to  Mp  tiMBaelraa  .....80 

—         Mm.  >...   .  S 

oaa«ia'!!iI!!iii^iI!!Ii!II!IiIiIIIIIIII.'!oi' '^'ni'mi'm 


THE  nsuaiON  or  rvskin 


HtMNdMV.  Mt  avdi  ia  Bukln**  nligioM  Mth  

Hwltlth,  poBtohawtAf  •  

HigbtMrt  PIcMDTM  <hwtmtk  »mtaMm  

HUHa,  N»w«ll  Dwight  *»  " 

HUla,  pride  of  the   *" 

HnTon  AND  GuTiaaM  o»  Aw  ••  

HwtorUii,  BuUn  —  m   '.V'^'il"ii!'ii'iS 

Hobwn.  J.  A,  WBik  «■  B«hia  fMM  H,  1^  4%  UK 

Bolkmd.  C«B«i  &,  on  BmUh  

HotaM^,  O.  Wendell  

Hoh'  Fe«r  «nd  Hiuun  terror   •  

Holy  Spirit,  the,  C2;  m  »  dove,  112,  128;  frierint  the,  IJW. 

Borne,  God  In  the,  226 ;  choice  of  n  ; :  * :  •  *  ii* 

Hornet,  for  workmen,  19,  38,  47,  40T;  wh*t  •  nUUoB  doUua  -noaSA  do,  80; 

of  good  men,  224 :  better,  225,  238,  407. 
Homer  190;  Buskin  learned  him  from  the  BlbUk  00. 

Homily,  a  Ohristmaa   i'L^LT  •  ••••••••••  

Honesty  la  advortMng,  847 :  economy  Ml,  ML   

HoDcMy  la  the  BeM  PoUcy   •  •  •J" 

BoBwiy  <he  Ba^  of  Bcligion  and  Policy  ........m 

Honor,  aactet  o(  power,  no ;  laetltaia  aai.  Sit. 

Hood'a  Bridge  of  Olka   "2 

Hooker,  ttndy  of   •  2 

Hoppta,  J.  H.,  on  Rnakln  and  art   " 

Horace,  the  Bible  and  2 

HosTtn  lucLvav*  ..••...••••..^B 

Bow  CantaTB  Taadilng  waa  perrerted   ..........M 

Wmr  OWatlaatty  waa  oormpted  •••••>■» 

Bair  VhB  iVbnMp  ...**..•.•••*••••«••••••*•.....«• 

Bow  Raphael  marked  the  Dadiaa  ofAit  j?^ 

Bow  to  hear  a  aenaoa  •  jj* 

Bow  to  be  Baaaaad   *2 

Bow  to  help  CM  "Jj 

Boward,  Joha  v;;!  

Booae,  oart.  and  Ood'e,  214 ;  my  FaOai^  ML 
Bomaa  acttaa.  Joatice  and.  844;  praritoea  aad,  all. 
liiik  Mt  Mid  Jet 


i«f  UBw«k.s:fBMHsial«*«(aai  ^ 

lebthyoaaama  ... .,..........•..............•••••••••••••»•••••••••••• 

IdeaaofBeanty,  79;aMMa«(,n. 

Ideal,  the  Amerieaa   '^,"JS 

Idolatry   »1. 

Illegitimate  power  of  money   ;i"^'*2? 

Ill-health  of  Rnakin   *  S 

lUnatratlona  from  the  Bible   JSL 

Imagiaation.  88:  OalMMa,  Um,  US;  <■  AMiMaatsae  m 

Immortality,  beltef  ia   

ImpeifaatloB  aeceaaary  to  Piagiaaa  •  "JJ 

laqMUtMl.  Bnakin  aometlmaa  ww  •  •"SS 

Imp(o«iag  the  Word  of  God  »■» 

laddent  whidi  decided  thaaga  to  BmUbIb  laligloas  Ufa   W 

India,  redemption  for  

Indifference  to  human  aaffering — ^whyt   'fg 

lafldel  tha,  why  he  lorea  aatnre 


INDEX  48f 


iB&MMt  of  th*  BMi «•  MnUai  . ...  m 

InflnmiM  of  fl««HI   J, ..fii 

iBflnltj  of  God  

Inanity  of  BpMa  ,..,,.lt 

InordiMta  pisy  ,   JBf 

ItuerlpOon  and  Pietans  in  OknrehM  ..........JBi 

iMpimtloa  of  tiM  BetiptofMb  197;  tb«>riM  of,  188. 

iMpini  Mm  lit 

taMM^  "^iC  taita ^ 

;■•»■>  m  wmur.  tto  «M««(  ....V.V/.V.V.V.V.V/AV.V/.V.V.V.V.V.V.V.W* 

Iir  Uomnua  BAiiom  880 

Iioay  of  Bnakln  8A 

IroB  uehitacttiro  M,  STS 

la  iplaado'  in  Teniid«  Mrriow  MMMiyt  ,,,,Mt 

Uun,  UMilat  of   «  BIS 

UMk,  fMM  88.  181.  180.  148 

M«kt  WaiMi  mmau  Uko   .T7:..Tr...aA 

Mmm,  Prof.  W.,  qnoHi  

JuMo  ud  Jodo.  eoariM  H  OMrt  lit 

J«i«M  nnd  tha  Bibk  .....lilSit 

Jaaaa.  in  Oatbaaoiano,  80;  nmimkm  of  nam  ««,  Wt  fcaUajl  <  m 

Jaaoa,  rmrHMa  of  aama  ^  TO;  batinyal  of  .................,,...,,,.....SW 

Jawala   ...................Hi 

Jawala.  of  no  food  Tahw,  86;  abaring  of,  81& 

Jowala  of  God  815 

Job'a  QoaatioA  «(  tho  Bala  8X8 

Job,  bMtk  tt  181;  181.  888^  MT.  81%  SU 

Mn,  aaa  MM  1MB  M  •  n 

job%  at  

JoMi^  HMm  UaH.  fwM   41,  M 

Jotdaa,  tba  ••••.••••••••»•••. •••»»».JW 

Joy,  of  firinc  money,  4h«,  288 ;  without  labor  ia  baae.  857.  *"* 
Jodaa,  ain  of,  08,  802,  867 ;  tba  batiaya],  100;  ftUl  of,  888. 

Judgaant,  day  of  tt.i.HH  Ml 

JtMtIca  as  a  Baaia  of  Aedaa  ...Mi 

jMgMBt  aad.  887. 

Jntiaa  to  BalbmiOambm 
JnaMaa  is  Bdwatioa 


Xato  fwaftta,  aom  4a  timm  •(  BwMa  .«L  M 

Kaata,  qootad  JHt 

King  of  Kinga  888 

King  of  tbe  Golden  riw  81 

KiagdMB  of  God,  tbe,  63,  800 ;  ia  alraadj  coma.  200;  BnMn  iraaij  for  tba,  S3& 

Whirtlf   4 

Kmmr  nyadf   „  m 

Know  tkyaalf  to  Know  Qai  .........IM 

Know  tht  tbinga  of  Itetan  

Knowledge  and  OonteBtONBt  

Knowladfa,  aakimilatiag  it  

Koran,  tbe  BiMa  sad  


Labor   

Lady,  «,  «■  BaaUa'a  letteta  

^'"i^Af'SS^^SS'^J^^'  ■^•yt  Life,  Memorr,  Obodl^' aoei  m 
•M^  888^  8Slti^88)^  881^  887. 

-^►««l«nr  q«wf»  48^ 


436  THE  RELIOIOS  OF  RVSKIN 

TiiMlimpi  PalatlBi  aot  taiwcrtd  its  tnd   Tt 

Vut  8ap»«r  JJS 

lAW.  gnu  Mi«  obty  It   » 

Law  gMMv  tiM*  UfeMUr   

hnm  oC  MMfe  Mi  rlikt   -M 

Lawm  *** 

Lmtm  Mi  ViiM*.  lli-  S 

LMbanon    *"%*S 

Laeturca,  llat  ot.  51-88;  at  Osfoid,  17& 

Lioruua  on  A  it   

IMIOIM  OH  ▲MMRMTCM  AHB  PAimUM  381 

•••••••»•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• 'BOS 

 jk •CM   S 

I  of  <1m  BnMk  822 

 I,  of  tka  8t«Mik  U»|  «l  m  riMiib  M 

Lattar  aboat  Okriatma*  8W 

Lattai*  to  tha  Clargy.  ill  iMtHiM  tmm,  mt  «»  QlilMniv  iMghlm  ;6f 

Lattan  to  Ladiaa   WJ 

Laritlcal  oCcring  Ml 

LarMena  qnotad  

Ubarty.  Boakin  danlad  it,  47  s  irt^MB  «l|ia>,aOlb  ^ 

UeeBtlouancaa  ia  Ifenriafa  M 

U»,  a  §K»tMtat  mm   21« 

LUk  t  Drilght.  DMMh  ittaiM   821 

lifa  tba  only  wMikh   

Ufa,  ita  OrlgiB  aot  iB  tha  doat  ..W 

Ufa,  nature  apeaka  <o  the  noble,  125;  lawa  of,  140;  ot  CHotto,  1B7 ;  Lamp  of, 

206;  pride  of,  254;  future  of,  827;  deatb-Uke  form  of.  417. 
Ught,  at  erening,  70;  let  there  be,  178;  Cauiat  givet  of,  179;  fngiag  (or, 

179;  of  the  World,  188;  Veaiee  atanad  amimf  ^ 
UUea,  Plot  T/adaU  and  4h«  ioa      aathar  «<  ti 
Uiiba  of  tha  MM   


Uterary,  ceatary  Ught*  of,  8;  Baakia'a  weak  L  .  -  . 

Utufgj,  good  of  i  •« 

Uriag  ia  Hooor       Bawat  of  Pwaar  IW 

Uvingatone.  BwM   ■ 

Loagfeltow   

Look  for  Hternl  Meaning  ot       BiMa   •  .w 

Looking  thioagh  the  aky   rf* 

LMd  Uadaay'a  Chriatiaa  Art  

Leid^  Sapper,  withairt  lagafi  la  plaao  at  pii«t  

Lord'a  prayer,  tha  otaak  Mi  

Lot  IHaatratioB  tnm  "J  J** 

Loadon'a  magaiine   ^  5S 

Love  and  Faith  above  —   


LoTO  and  Vital  Beauty   

Love  of  Art  not  neceaaary  to  the  Spiritual   .r*'""  Vil'*^ 

Love.  Rnakin'a  affaire  of,  7;  poea  of.  8;  atory  of.  8:  Boaa  Ia  ToadM,  3B : 

the  reveUtioo  ot  €to4  lUS  fMi  <  U0<  «^  <  <M  koMnr  »» 

886;  aeieaee  and,  8i7. 

Laaaia,  paiaata  riwrid  ka  M— Itai   •  ^ 

Umt*  lemra   

Love,  not  LoH  

Lowell   ••  ^ 

Lnke,  quoted  ^ 

Luxuriance  of  OiMlMBt  


llaoaalay,  Lord   •  •• 


IMona.  tte   , 

Ibrtalta.  MUT.  IMMI 

MalidoiM  iTiog  

If  allawn.  R«t.  Mtan  M  ( 
Ifaminoa,  988 ;  Ood  aiid,  Stt. 

If  an  in  th«  IiMCt  of  Ood  

Ifma.  Ua  imI  Talne.  W ;  Baskin  the.  18 ;  htlplMnMi  of,  2>> :  imI  portntt  of; 
81 :  iUm  emtad  (or,  83 ;  mirror  of  Ood,  151 ;  ipirituaJ  MM*  ^  1W{ 
iwttt*  foiM  u4,  8»;  trtiy.  882;  hMrt  of,  ouiUo.  418. 


I  o(  Ow  livotMtanl  .111 

IfoBM.  tht,  818;  ot  tko  IfoaaMM,  4B. 

IfuMk   M  MotlMd  in  tMutfal^  B«hi»%  ^ 

IfoBnlitc.  CMdiaoI.  BaaUa  and   M 

Man's  Herita«o   .....JW 

Man'a  IndlCatonoo  to  Waata  aod  Lom  ....Stl 

Man's  two-teid  Natuio   221 

Maa'a  woik  wHb  Ood  ozalta  Urn  a» 


Maanfaetars  aa4 

Maar  Uvea  of  CMtt  '.  JM^ 

MaiMe  ehnrehao   

Market,  boy  In  tka  cbaapaat   HI 

Marriata,  Raskin's  views  of,  0;  Mrs.  Boskin  to  MiUaia,  21 ;  at  Cana.  the,  108, 
414 ;  State  regulation  of,  47,  8S6 ;  not  o(  aapreme  importance,  880. 

Marry,  psrmlssioB  to  4T 

r.  wHta^^^,  4H;  VMM  fmi,  M, 


MkxtaB  of  •  yfim  Khi  HT 

Memory  In  arcfaitaetare  ......Si 

Memory,  Lamp  of,  2(K!  224 ;  swt-otnaas  of  the,  417. 

Man,  loneliness  of  «^Ve  great,  20;  evil,  aad  foatessa  ot  lOT;  WOCM**  taWfMMi. 
of  384;  wh  v  ^-v  or  ir>or.  338;  fnaUMO  Mi  giMt,  Mil 

Men  vill  see  wl..   --ht,  'onk  for  Hi' 

Men,  not  perfect  a         <in«»  are   24S 

Mob,  not  alavaa  if  U«  /  -  Mi   <!•  free  atS 

   MB 

^  tM 

,  a  oramb  of,  Oo(i>  v^n  .......................... 

,  the  Artist,  Buvkia's  frisaMdp  ftr.  xt  «WII»  Bc«tria't  k^nw  aai  SMtf^ 
riaca  to  Mrs.  Bnskin,  21. 

MUtoB     I;  UH  Ui 

Mill,  John  Btnart,  4;  Raskin  opposed  to,  84,  888; 
Mlllionaiies,  38;  «  aoggestion  to,  88. 

Mind,  rellgioas,  M:  banaa,  100;  Hmba  of  4br,  J75:  of  BoiUn  nnchancad.  .881 

Mlalatiy,  of  adoM*  »1 

Mlnntanesa,  rnir—i  «(  ...  18^ 

MiaslMiaiisa^  tttt  Omtmm   9 

Misshm  ol  the  Wkmm  M* 

Miser,  cannot  atag  ITt 

Mitford,  May  Baaaril,  her  aketdi  of  BnaUn  a 

Miracle,  the  loaves,  120;  the  Sist— why  wnraikt,  IBS;  laomnltiaB  of  t»  Mtu%  Stt 

MoDCEN  Pairtkbs:  Vou  I.  IS 

MooKBN  PAiNtraa:  Vou  n  8t 

MoDOur  Painteh:  Vol.  m  Ui 

MoMBt  Paihtos:  V««.  IV  ..Itf 

Tfffflwi*  PAiBnu:  Tffl.  V.  

IMkb  PaiBtan,  qaststiona  ftaa,  Si^  9t;  tut  voL  poMbted,  SB;  iAm  wri»> 
tea,  80;  what  it  teogbt,  St;  iH^bm  aM  ta,  tT;  Mt  tfeMiMi  «■ 
paMia,  la,  n ;  Brat  virinaia  oC  lit  MMM  iw  mMfevtti  Ml  *K  «il  MVt 
■o  ehaage  «C  aiad  «■,  SSL 


43*  THE  BSUQION  OF  RU8KIN 

IfBteB  Aft.  ffiliii   ••••  

ModMty,  «f  BaiUi,  IT;  ami  pMy.  »T. 

Moffat,  Bob't   •« 

Money  «nd  T«l»ta   .^P 

Mont  Bluie,  ntIiM  to,  421 ;  poam  on,  42S.  w 
MoiMv,  what  it  ii,  87:  ■honM  bt  free,  47;  Joy  of  fiTiac  %  Wt  fOMii*  M 

•pending.  268,  SOB.  846;  Ohrtet  vO,  390,  VO. 

Moody.  D.  L.   IL-'Alll m 

Monl  Deeds         oor  power  ler  CM   '^'lii'"'^"!!'^ 

Mona  CteiMler  Badda's  aliMvs  uiiililiit,  M;  lugH|e«ai.  ITl;      ud,  800 

MemI  woi*  the  txpTM^  o«  «k*  M  -gg 

MonU  BUndneea  and  SeUUhMM  J« 

Moiml  QnaUty  of  WeoHh   2*» 

Moral  Inflnenco  of  riowm   

Moral  BeneiMHtT  and  Truth   ;~ 

Moral  Jodgment  the  Standard  of  Beauty   JW 

Moral  DlTerrtty  of  Mankind   

Moml  Vlrtne*  of  Building  •  

MmbI  QmUUm  ta  Aft  

Mofml  Unity  of  gympathy  te  Aft  277 

Moral  Value  of  Beatralat   2 

MoBmiim  IN  FMunoi   

Moaaieal  Syatem,  the  

Koaea,  875;  aotig  of,  00  812.  818;  face  of,  112;  Aaron  and,  119.  141;  death 

of,  142;  tranaflgnration  of,  144,  145;  Ararat  and  oil 

Moaea  at  the  Mountain  : V S 

Mother  of  Roakin   M.  »»•  *• 

MMbo'a  pmym,  «hataee  of  VV;;i 

Moot.  SarmoB  on  the,  aftlK,  UB;  •<  «»M!«W«^«5il**'.i*L 
liMMaiM,  Bidrit  of.  84:  aMat*ml,taiUtm^taijMMamtl,mi 

US;  appointed  as  raflWM.  141;  ■tiMftk  gltw  to,  4Mi  paaaa  U, 

Momtaiaa  and  Men   ^55 

Mount  Sinai   *2 

MultipUeation  of  human  life  and  poHHeal  economy   W 

MUHBBA  PcLvniB,  8S2 ;  an  epoch-making  hook,  SB. 

Mnaie,  the  beat  and  worat,  the  popnUr  £• 

MatMl  9m*  to  aw  <<  t>»  mwti  v  


— .  ftJl  of.  87, 280;  do  nat  tagard  liiona,  «;  i>o«My 
waalth.  44;  aalt  of,  00;  pragreaa  of,  164;  tea  of.  ^.^^ 
ttrir  •utoMogfaphlea,  286;  Garden  al  CM  to.  Ot;  <MM/u  Mlhadi  tat 
for,  884.  ^ 

Nationa  fontet  God  in  mMat  of  Ptatr  

Nntional  debt,  there  ehould  be  aoaol  •** 

Naitural  ncenery,  Christ  and  Jg 

Natural  History  of  the  Soul   ^ 

Nature  and  Truth,  both  hate  a  Ua  '2 

Nature  speaka  to  the  noble  Ufa  •  J* 

Mntwe  the  great  echool  of  Power  .......    ..... . . . ; . . . 

aatmn.  taHaty  te,81;ta««>odyaniippl.M;  tai^.f^  wjiyHa  4lJ>» 
DNtea.  8i:  G««B  pnvidaMa  la.  IO»J  Iww  «t  Hit  wlit^  «C  l»l 

beauty  la,  186;  knltneaa  of,  417.   

Nature's  Best  Romm  to  think  in   •  "JS 

Nature's  Waraingi  aad  the  Mjotery  of  Punlahment  i« 

Neceerity  of  law  2; 

Necessary  Play   

Newdlfate  prise  at  Oxford   •  jW 

Mawtoo,  Sir  Chaa.   


43t 


INDEZ. 


Kmt  iHtaaMt   

T'Vlft  TiAMIBI^  •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••  ••••^^►^^jjj 

Nkftn,  th*  dMBBd  «(  ....••..*••  •••  .....flt 

Nlghtlnf  to,  narcBM  *<M 

NiaMMBth  OntaiT  Btorai  CBMi  

Mo  BMOtjr  witboat  Troth   .......19 

No  Valauity  in  Tnith  UT 

NoblwMa  la  th*  Atad   2Tt 

MoUMt  TUiics  loat   Itt 

ItalM,  CftM.  Btot.  OMTCeti  RnUn'k  linr  «<  IMM IMM^  i»t  «■  MMliai 
ffriitfow  MMittliiiW,  06k  41a.  41& 

Mom  oir  rta  damacmm  m  Wmmmmm  4W 

Mnmbor  o(  Daya  82T 

Miiiab«%  BMk  «C  Ml.  US 

Obedience  tMmttel  to  o  KnewMfa  «<  Ooi  JH 

ObediMico,  aD:  Lamp  of.  206.  226;  Htaity  Mi,  SfTt  ttel  M;  «»  Oai,  M 

Of  Power,  7S:  Of  Tratka  to  Bhlaa  IB 

Of  Traths  of  Earth ;  Of  Tnitk  of  Watar   T8 

Of  Truth  of  Vegeutioa   TS 

Old  Knighthood,  the   M 

Old  taataoMBt  and  tba  new  tiO,  US 

Oiivw  naMaaill   •  

<Nh«l;  Okriat  at   Ul^  m 

On  m  Old  Boad  

Omnlpotanea  *  ........Bt 

Onyx,  tTpe  of  all  atonaa  SIS 

Orthodoxy,  Ruakln'a  rarolt  <!«■   57 

Oppreaaion  <^  the  Poor  919,  281 

OthaUo   

Othar  lliniatfiaa  of  Moontaiaa   ISS 

O^WA  _        -   ^  ^ 

 ^  Tt  OialMttwlM  at,  10»  Piiftwii  <  Si. 

»t  Mtnaa  «*.  M. 

Pain  aa  a  Bonrea  of  Pleaam  •  tSS 

Painter  and  Preacher   SS 

Paintlnff.  hetum  cm   SU 

PalaadM  S 

Mwtvar  Bkaaaa  ♦jg 

PanUa  «(  Tha  laat  8ara>  day*  .........IfB 

Pamblaa,  wroac  wm  «C  ..................... 

Paaadiaa.  aS :  laat  «MMlllit  HlWi  «i; 
Paradox,  RtHkia  «.........................< 

Parenta,  dntr  of  .........•...•.....*.    . 

Parker.  Dr.  Joaeph  t 

Paat  and  Pieaent.  Oarlyla  qoetad   

Baator,  the,  Ua  ftuetiou  and  doUaa  ■ 

Vntk  to  Qyi   

Palanal  gofaiBMat   

PftiiMaa  aad  Mml  laala  

PMa%  J«hB   

Panl  A$mia»,  mm  tmm  mmmmm^  Mt«iMI*«ikli»tfMM*S"it  < 

PaabodT   .••..*..*......*.*.....IS^ 

Peace,  67.  71 ;  makera  of,  bleaaed.  181 ;  sot  wo*  If  IM^  Wt  WMHP  «ft  Ml 
ataoMalM  «^  483;  pabBrtara  at.  41S. 


TEE  nELIQlON  OF  RUSKIIT 

■  PMTta  of  gmt  priM   tU 

Pw^poKmh  «C  BmUb   M 

^ntfttM^t  •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••SIS 

X^nfMti  nsB  Bot  ■••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••■•  sStt 

P—ilMtei  to  mufj   .••.•..•.••••.*.•..*  47 

Pmpcetire,  Mamml  of  ........•....•*..... ••••Mt 

INttr,  Us  bold  Swim.  US;  €h(tot  uid,        «t  tte  iMMlimlla^  SM;  Us 
CMH,  i06:  M  4tM        oC  the  chnieh,  SOi. 

rh7«l<ml  BdiMitiM   4S 

PhuiM%  <b»   SM 

Phyrietaa,   SM 

Plu  and  inupoM  of  St.  Omttuft  Onild   48 


fMy,  aataly  u4     98? 

narMh,  tha  AHyiteai  aad  ••.......828 

Plato,  mra  knoir  nore  than   ••...  6B 

Pkiy,  fanotioa  of,  onieiM,  vMoa  ia,  bib— l>y  at  toardiaala  808 

Pleaannf,  ttanagh  dWIwiMia,  Si;  to  poMy.  80;  la  hmB  mm,  11& 

Poa,  Edgar  Allej   8 

Poena,  Rodtia'a   416 

Poan,  doaeatte  aorrair  aipreaaloB  of  ...•••  28 

Ptaa,  Mo  foialaa  «C«i  iHMit  an  MB 

MtaT.  heMotjMttobataotSoa  JST 

WMim,  RaaUn'a  place  ia   88,  47 

Poata  of  the  Nineteenth  Oaataiy  .•.  8 

Pnjer,  obeeoee  of  Motber'a  .•...•.....•417 

Piedooa  Stonea,  312;  ladiea  and,  814;  loveHaat  ia  tki  «MtM,  SU. 
Prodisal,  lOD  the,  861 ;  oonfcaaion  of,  862. 

Provkience  ond  Great  Hea   842 

Preventloii  better  than  Care  842 

Piefldaaaa,  888 ;  Oaataataiaat  aad,  8B0i 

~   841 


88;  BaaUaTo  *io«a  ofc  SI.  848;  atai  0(88;  floMi  of; 
partly  atuiaod  ia  lairtiii,  48;  aaiaM  mtmm  SW(  Mm^m-. 
easay*  on.  8B8;  atnap  feM  at  SM). 

Popnlarlty,  daafar  «(  19 

Poaaeaalon  oaly  t»  OMnlMM  ••••  .....188 

Power  of  Choice   98 

Power  of  Money   87,  846 

Power  of  art  abueed  .78 
er,  75;  never  -waatad,  78;  of  OhriatiaDlty,  200;  the  aaeiot  of,  180;  Laap 
of.  206,  290;  aatata  Oa  oekaol  of,  220;  for  goad  iaaiaaoia  with  doiag,  807. 

TaoeMac  o(  MatoM  .........«.....M 

Piai«a«  for  Light  tm 

PHqrer,  62,  68;  vataa  of,  plaoa  «t 

9mt,  the  oppreaaioa  of,  879;  aMgUr  1»  li%  S8St  aaai 

nore  than  aaeat,  8<8. 

Prajrera,  of  SIplaeopal  chnrA  ..•.•..*.*••....••...  68 

PaxTBBTA.  418:  jfoaag  paovia  ihaaM  laad  It  41 

Preaching.  KaaUa  aami  U,  tSt  Man  «(  107 

Predoaa  Stonea   SU;  81M14 

Preface   •••..•••  ....is 

Pre-Raphaelltea  ..s 

pBB-RAi>HAELmax  ...188 

Vreaidant.  the  V.  8.  ranka  high  41 

Price  and  Talne  86 

PiMa  aad  Pbariaaelam   284 


INDEX, 


4<X 


PrM*  of  lift  and  4wr  or  D«th 
PiM*  4Mtraettv«  «f  BMity  ... 
PrtM*  of  Pmm*.  KiMttd,  Nbter 

PflMlplM,  OMwal   

pN«Mtieii,  bwt  nward  *  mm 
ProgMw.  imperfectioii  aad 
ProftcM  In  Parity  < 

Prof  raw  o(  NfttkHia   

PfomlMd  land,  the  

Propheciw  and  aptotlM  «n  inm 
ProMlytiaB 


of.  255. 

,  165 

...128.  280.  847-8,  8QT 


Pmt  tmari   

ProTCTba  qnoted   

ProTidance  and  Oontentamt   ;^:"*„V-"o:;' V.^,""*"^ 

Providence,  68;  in  natnre,  100;  in  eTeiy  cteaturo,  101,  246,  841,  428. 

Pialma  in  anaiat  VMW  •  

pSl™   60,  m,  188. 198.  287.  28a  287.  880,  884,  890.  882,  a»T 

Public  Ownerahip  ••••  

Pnbliahenh  IndiSMMoa  oT  to  mnit  •••Hi" 

n  '  avMB  <        CM  M*.  Mt  «iw  «^  Mi 


Pnie  in  heart  aeca  Ood  •"•••"•A.-'Uill** 

Parity  an  Bwenoe  of  Ui^t  and  a  Type  of  lh»  Blnw 
P«ity.  vlaaauaa  ia.  96;  aaaa  ItMlf.  IM. 


Quaint  Vene  of  Paalma  . . . 

guuK  or  THK  Am   

Quisotiam,  doing  good,  and. 
Rabab.  Jnatlfiad  ^  works  . . 
Baphael 


BaTena,  featfv  «( 
■Ml  ud  aiaeming  W« 
Baaasn,  lore  and  faith 

ReeMtnde  and  Honor  

Redeemer   

Bedeoption,  oeheM  of  

Red  8ea,  larael  and,  188;  tte.  218. 

Reformer,  Rnddn  aa  «k  

Retormation,  tlie   

BeHgiott  nnd  BaaliaHa  Aft  ........ 

■aUiton.  finteMMl  imlfei  «i,  mt 
in.  IM:  Snt  plM*  la,  980; 
hftimii  408;  0«l  of,  the  mm  m 
heterodosy  of 
1;  apMt  of.  aeM  In  ffwtar  DOffca, 

BoHalow  Mind  of  Bii«fe&   

BeligiMH  troth,  adherence  to  

Bellgiow  Tlwa^  ia  Art 


..sn 
..«ir 


.S]» 
.948 
.HI 


'M 


Umit  a  Ml* 
BMt,  fplrit  of. 

Baatraii^  Vain*  of  • 

BMnrreetton.  the,  160,  IBO;  Magdalen  Brat  at.  100. 

to  tha  Mnnpt  olaA  , 


.in 


44*  TEE  BEU&WN  Of  BV8KIH 


lack  of   ••••••••».•..........,•,,,,,.,.,  ,  f 

Btfolt  from  Orthodoi7   ***** • 

Bhone,  tha  Vallej  of  the   ""\i3t 

BiehM,  the  idol  of,  871 ;  the  poor  and.  848.  * 

Uch  Men,  where  do  they  get  their  Ufiof    45 

Bicbt  and  Wrong  , .  ^02 

Bight  Onm  for  Man  and  Woman   !..!!!'/'  aBT 

Bight  iMatt  «0M  of  Right  InfloMMSM  ...275 

Bight  thiaga  praoeed  from  the  VMm   107 

Bi^t  reoognitioB  of  Daada  ,  ,  iQg 

HighfiinaiBaai  aai  Jvtlet  'm 

BobtrtMM,  MMft  !!"!I!IIir.II.!.!;'8 

Bomanoe   ,  ^  '254 

Bomance,  the  tme  and  Cain  hi,  ISlt      UkmiMp  ..'..J",','.','.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.. 76^ 

Bomaniat,  errora  of   ,,,,  ,,,,  .  355 

Booau  to  think  in.  Natare'a  beat  I.!jP8 

Booaevelt,  Preeident.  88;  hia  oaU  for  family  life,  89. 

Boot*,  their  EMenHal  Wmtfkm  320 

Boeetti,  Rnakin'a  aatlMt*  «(   '..    .  x 

"--•-'T.  John,  Life  idf- 

Carildhood  and  X«Mh  S 

The  Man    18 

Art  Critic  and  Author   <  .'25 

Beformer  and  ISeonomiat   ,  33 

Leetnier  and  Teacher    42 

Beligiooa  Mind  of    54 

JohB  Stmm  VMher  of  John.  7;  Ua  partan  la  boalnMa  l't2 

«  ^  ^""^      ^  taaAtog  «t  tta  talptaiw,  10^  11.  80,  88» 

BaaUn.  childhood  and  yonth,  8;  a  world'a  teadier,  4;  data  «(  Uith,  4t  Ut 
firrt  volnme,  B:  early  poenu,  6;  hte  opinion  of  hfiiiialf.  8;  lova  aChin  «^ 
7,  9,  22;  hia  defence  of  Turner,  6:  designed  for  dngymaa,  9;  duly  of 
loTera,  9 ;  Dean  Stanley,  Gladstone  and  others,  10 ;  mother's  Bible  training, 
Oe  BiUe  his  mental  food  10,  11.  12,  60,  889;  estimate  of  his  genius,  18, 
aOS;  his  wit  and  skill,  14;  pen  poitrslt  of,  14,  16;  his  honesty,  16;  as  a 
tUnkor,  17;  Ua  ideal  of  woman,  18;  marriage  of,  21 ;  iUneaa  of,  28;  New 
ZMk  Tiihaaa,  on  hia  ifwha,  85;  artist  llrat,  then  critic,  26;  his  phenom- 
Mal8aeesas,27:caf»o(TaiBat^dmw«aga,27:  hia  great  Utarary  schnne, 

81 :  «  parados,  88;  hia  polMlMh  88:  Ba?ar  votad.  84;  hia  palMaBl  aaaMV* 
84:  loana  Ua  aervant  alwraa  hudtad  paaada,  87:  a  minoaaii*  at  hia 
fauMr's  death.  88 :  his  riew  of  American  goremmeBt,  40 ;  of  manual  train* 
fag,  48:  Ma  vlewa  of  wealth  and  Tolstoi,  44;  not  always  practical,  46; 
his  views  of  marriage,  46,  47,  357.  399;  his  Utopian  schemes,  48; 
aa  Oxford  Professor,  00;  his  dramatic  action,  51:  the  Bpisco> 
pal  church  and,  54;  George  Herbert  and,  65,  83,  89;  Chariee  B. 
Motton  on  religious  dmnge  of,  56;  Catholic  Spirit  of,  68;  CaiAnal 
Maaalng  and,  68;  not  a  Soman  Catholic  60;  Ma  radical  view  of  truth. 
86;  drew  inspiratkm  fntm  Scripture,  70;  iauMMBUty  aad  death  of,  73; 
Craaaing  the  Bar,  73;  aos*  da  ptaaie  of,  78:  Ua  raaaoaa  far  writing  Mod- 
wn  Painteta,  74;  word-painting  of,  89;  change  in  rall^oaa  faith,  114; 
critical  mind  of,  147;  religions  mind  of,  more  settled,  188:  aatly  leamiag 
of,  from  the  Bible,  199;  Us  "BcTen  Lampa,"  206;  tme  to  the  Truth, 
ffl4:  not  a  puritan,  284;  at  Florence,  294;  Cariyle  and,  17,  24,  84,  65, 
86,  176,  301.  852;  kept  account  of  the  weather  for  fifty  yeara.  828;  his 
Hfe  in  Praterita,  413;  influeneea  of  Byron.  8cott,  Shakspeare.  Pope, 
Bomar,  816.  418;  Scott,  a  faforita  aathor,  888;  Uogmshy  at,  ia  Pm- 
tttilik  418;  aa^  paNM^  41C 


•MMi  rtaado  tttnataia   


,.8S 


INDEJL  443 

'•ft 

■9itM7  «(.  i»:  Imp  at  son  ao:  MiydM  <siO: «( 4ht  kHit.  2u 

AierifleU '^rpw  most  oMt  MMlktag  SU 

Mmttt  aad  BaphaMa,  yik*  pmb   M. 

Saloon  aa  Prop  «(  OoUafa  .,  tU 

BaH  of  NatioiM  M 

Balvktioa.  not  proeiataad  to  «a>onBt  tndan  BU 

Samnol,  «iiotattoB  fMa  S8T 

SamiMl  Pkont  IM 

■anettty  of  Oolor  in  the  Seriptaiaa   127 

BaaolMy  in  Natnn   133 

■alaa.  aaU  to  S» 

■atln  SB8 

SaTior,  tha  atenial,  141;  te  Wiflilihi,  tm 

flavoaaiola,  RoaUa  nattar  ............«*.•..  M 

Soariot  OI017  82S 

Soeaeiy,  Chriat  and  natml  ••*......*............ ..268 

Sdiiam,  the  root  of  Xffl 

Idence,  the  Uf  h«r  nriniatry  of,  01 ;  tha  da^  ^  lilt  «(  MMMlHlk  Mt 

art  (laatar  than,  2S1 ;  lore  and,  817. 
■oott,  Walter,  4, 10^  U;  a  favorite  of  BnaUa'a,  8B0. 
■ariptona,  zt;  tiaiatag  ia  bj  sMtkar,  10, 11, 416;  lagaidad  m  ImI  ■iftortlj, 
60:  adapted  to  all  nan,  68;  freat  ninda  Inaplrad  iv  tka^  TO;  iwantlaal 
teachlnc  of  tha,  128,  888;  qnotetiona  ftoaa,  120,  870;  tha  aobjaeli  «( 
Oiotto'a  paiDtfnca,  157;  in  Ariadne  Florentlna,  184;  Talneof,  186;  Moaala 
and  ApoatoHc,  th^  106 ;  atiidr  of  the,  107 ;  inapiiation  of,  107 ;  the,  on  the 
poor,  280;  motto  from  for  political  eooaony,  M4;  in  naa  and  TIda,  808; 
in  Fore,  876-7 ;  aothority  of,  for  dreaa,  807  (aaa  BiUa). 

Scripture  Imagery  in  the  QtaM  lai 

Scaddor,  VMa  IX,  qnotetiooa  ttcm  ...4  Mk  M 

Baa,  atorfaa  of  tht,  280;  home  at  tba^  4SL 

Seer,  Bnakin  a   ........*..  ,,...M 

Seaman,  the  old,  hla  atory  ......•.*.....  4S0 

Self-aaerifiee  of  Men  in  every  aaa  M4 

Self-eacrifiee  of  Rnakia  .mti;i%«45.4S 

Selfiahneaa  and  moral  bliadneaa  US 

Senauality  fatal  to  Beanty  in  Art  tk,  lOB 

Sentimental  poem   2S 

how  to  hear  a   28S 

on  the  Manot     00^  124,  126,  128 

wiadaai  a(  .Ill 

Am  Liuaa   ....U^  406 

the  laat   lf| 

LUfra  OF  AacHRioTcaa,  Tki   ....101 

Seren  Lampa,  60.  206;  ^aaaee  tt,  SOOl 

Severn.  Joeeph,  RaaUa  at  kamt  tt   ......ttl 

Uafteabnry,  Lord  H 

•hakapeare,  zi.  8,  10 ;  OnMr,  OtbellOk  AaMar*  SMMt^  Bmit,  Uiui 
drew  inapiration  from  the  Bible,  TOl 

•hem.  Ham  and  Japheth,  genealetioal  tree  of   87S 

Mepheida,  the  Savior  aad  tha   8T0 

Sight  ipiritnal  IIS 

Simplicity  and  Oontantmaat  ITT 

SImplaat  Tnitha  negleetad  U4 

Sin  of  Jndaa,  the,  68;  gnft,  SOT. 

Sin  oonaiate  4n  Choiee  of  Bvil   •••*•••••••.. ..MT 

Sin  win  aee  ain  and  Parity  will  aee  ilarif  *...  .....IM 

Sin,  217;  the  Apoatlea  on,  248;  ogiineaB  and,  262,  432. 
Sing,  the  mieer  cannot,  171 ;  not  «o,  diagiaoafal,  416. 

of  Venice  MO 


444  THE  RELIGION  OF  BUSKIN 

Bit  J«dma  and  Bolbeln  »»..  IM 

Bketebing  from  ratnre   ...^...••.•••••.•.••••••4S 

Bkie*,  bmntj  and  Tariety  ci,  8S;  loAiiic  tiUovgh,  M. 

Sloth,  the  MM 

Small  tUagi  girt  gTMtar  itaMu*  .....nS 

Social  B^vrmar,  SoMa  at  •  U.  Mk  M,  BO 

SodaHat,  SnaUa  not  a  88,  «r 

Sodom,  the  bread  of   .181 

Soldier,  fanctiona  and  dotiee  of   ..........M8 

Solomon,  die  fint  great  Natnraliat,  268 ;  temple  of,  802. 

Son  of  Man,  no  place  for  head  of  28 

Song,  an  Index  to  tforal  BmotloB   170 

Song,  Moaea'   .'  80 

SoBg«lilrda,  poeta  and  ••••••••••••••••••••••*.•..••....«••*»•••«•...... .808 

Soal,  bed7  and,  800^  888;  aataial  MaMy         MB;  M  iMr  «(  ala.  tta  baaa, 
888;  aot  m  -maddaa,  M6, 

Sonl  Cnltnn  and  Bottljr  Baaaty  103 

Sonl  of  Man  a  minor  at  lOai  «(  Ood  161,  1B2 

Soule,  aa  Aaaeta   848 

Souls,  value  of,  68;  oaatlag  amgr.  Tit  <Wiii»  «(>  MS;  aala  of,  420. 

Space,  infinity  of   96 

Sparrow*,  men  more  ralne  than,  86;  condenmed  Solomon'a  temple,  882L 

SpeaMng  tmth,  difllcnitjr  of  217 

Spaetnar,  the,  «aotattaA  faaai   itt 

SpeeatattoB,  amn^  o(  .....383 

Spencer,  Herbert  .......................... ...........................x,  4 

Spenaer,  quotation  tnm   106 

Spiritual  Unity   07 

Splrttoal  Bnnoblement   ...•...••.........••.•..•.••.•.* ...... .8IS 

Spirit  of  God,  everywhere  word*  alike,  96;  poured  ont  on  GioMo,  222. 

Spiritual  Hfe  atrengthened   167 

Spiritual  Nature  of  Man   108 

Spiritual  Sight   178 

Spurgeon,  Oha&  BL  ....8 

Squirrel,  the   .'.  817 

Stan  guided  by '€M, <n8;  aaaa oanatMiB  thaa^  4SSl 

Stanley,  Dean  10 

fltawardaMp,  meaniag  «C  888 

Streeta,  care  of,  good  to  208 

St  George'a  Ooild,  44 ;  object  of,  48 ;  gtfu  to,  48 ;  treakneaa  of,  DO. 

St.  Mabk'b  Rb8t   308 

Btonea,  leaaona  of  the,  180,  810;  pndoaa,  814. 

Stoaa  Baoa,  the   810 

Btiaaglli  aad  aaMy  in  all  tUnga  06 

Storm,  tenor  «(  a,  268;  dead  of  the  18th  century,  828. 
Storbs  or  Verice,  when  written,  80;  aridaace  «t  iriigioaa  adad,  70;  VoL  I, 
280: Vol.  II,  2S5;  Vol.  Ill,  248. 

Study  of  Art  and  Archttectun  OS 

Sublime  in  'dea«h,  the   80 

Subordinaitea,  Juatice  to   378 

Bucceai,  aa  author,  87 ;  aeereta  of,  220. 

Sob,  greataeaa  aad  Aiataaca  of  the,  201;  Prof.  TyndaU  oa,  838. 

Sapaiaataaal,  4ka   Ill 

•appar,  the  lm€t  0^  MO* 

flopeiatMiaa  aad  NatmrilaB  284 

BaperatMoB  and  Beligion  285 

Supentltloaa  WaiaUp  battar  On  iaSMity   ^ 

Sueie'i  lettacB  aai  IMa  ns 

Swallow,  tha  8QB 


..4S 
..98 
.317 


for  the  san.  132;  iiBlHte  in  <ha,  212;  U  in  yoo.  tti,  11& 

■SiUor,  tta*  vlUaRe,  tribute  t»  BmMb  Tl 

Take  no  taaabloas  tbeoght..-  IM 

TAleiits.  DMsey  and   8>9 

TasM,  «a  fjiiilj  «ad  pMpMliMMd  .18 

.M8 
.41^  88 

.m 

bMintr  «f  168 

Tenptation,  Jok  Md   

Ten  GonmandMMta   .•»««.. 

Tennyaon,  8,  17 ;  the  Prinocaa  «aoted,  18,  M ;  Cnaalnc  the  bar,  72. 

Terror,  fear  and   108 

Thackeiv   400 


Bnbliaw  in  Death   

Baal  portmU  of  «  Man— 
Fainter  and  the  Preadiw 
Will  to  belieTe,  qootatloA  §m 

8Um  created  Ut  Man   

Spirit  ol  the  Hanataina  

Finger  of  Oai  In  Matara 
Salt  of  ~ 

Mlaialij  of 
XMrine  te 

fleiM  «C  Bmb^  in 
Pua  in  haart  aaaa  God 
Boot  of  aeUaat  and  the  (ailiira  of 
IMsnltj  of  TTiiwaa  InwhtaHon  . 
Judgment  Day  hr  Tintaret  ... 
Bnpamatnml  in  gNak  Pietarea  . . 
Bight  iu»  «C  « 

'aCflMH 


.It 


...4 
..88 
..84 
..87 
..90 
..81 
..81 


..98 
.107 
.108 
.110 
.111 
.118 
.128 


Iaw  of  Help  and  Hi 
Hnman  aonl  aa  a 
Marriage  in  Oana 
Laat  Bnsvor  .... 


of  the  Dirina 


isr 

144 

148 
148 

182 
108 
188 


Maatar'a  Oroaa  and 

Valna  of  a 
Baaatr  of  Ood'a  < 
Origin  of 


MUout'a  Nan  M 

Onaidianahip  of  Lova  180 

Lawb  or  I'Mou  188 

light  al  tho  Worid   188 


14 

jit 

■ 

3* 


if  ? 


ii 


i  I  if 


44« 


THE  RELIGION  OF  RV8KIN 


Tn  AM  or  Dhuahb  IM 

Ujntary  of  SMrillea   UB 

Tim  aad  th*  Fate  in  Bwino  181 

Uv  «(  IVMm   1« 

f^MV  «f  Ik*  0mm  IM 

PMMw  M  •  BMk  of  WonUy   198 

Blblo  M  mmiy  and  Litmlm  IM 

Tn  Pomr  or  Aammorun  M 

BeUfious  Vkln*  of  billy  country  ..M 

Tn  BEnx  Lamm  or  AMHnaorm  M 

Lamp  of  Baeriflc*   210 

Bmt  Olfta— God'a  Homo  sad  oun  21S 

hm9  o(  Tnith   .m 

ItettHtM  V»  nMM  Ikn  4ho  UtWrna   M 

aC  IMkral  ArtMHatiia  tit 

LaiV  9t  Bmmt   «D 

Secret  of  Bneeeaa  ....SW 

Lamp  of  Jtfaanty  •  W 

Lamp  of  Ufa   223 

Lamp  of  Memory   224 

Okwy  of  «  BolMiiig   238 

Lamp  of  ObadianM  227 

Tn  8Tom  or  Vmos  Sn,  885, 

39r  of  OMag  Umn   M 

BBflteatMBt  of  diataaaa  988 

UBfatbomabIa  Uaifaiio  

iMcmUbIa  Wladoa  at  Ooi  .....M 

Bpiaoopal  Ohineh   288 

Moral  relation  of  color  241 

DiTine  Natnia  typified  in  eolor   241 

Meaning  of  Hell-flra   946 

ApoiUio  oa  Virtue  and  Mb  .9t» 

■w'a  imftiw  and  dtatMMO   JU 

■eapa  «t  Tnth  to  ait  Ml 

rnncHon  of  the  Artiat   <  .....181 

Neeeaaity  and  function  of  Law  .....888 

Beformation — ^Protaatant  and 

Proper  Function  of  Piay  

Satirical  and  iadt  of  BoTeranoe 

Terror  of  a  Storm   

Toweta  of  the  Biblo  

Monl  priadpla  la  apendinc 

lainaaea  of  Bnytaf  thtnga  ...sm 

Bibie  dellghta  to  Natural  liMgity  ..........MT 

Tn  Two  Paths  .............SIS 

Moral  Valui>  of  Work  ..lit 

Mora!«  of  SpecnlaMon  ........••........*..«■ 

Tn  Stust  o?  AxcHTTECTUia  •  294 

Angel'a  Meaaage  of  Peace   28B 

Wonhlp  of  Giavea  Imagaa  388 

Old  Knighthood   .Ht 

Qaaaa  of  tha  Air  

■udi<k  IhiM  JbM  811 

Daw  Mi  tha  koar  VMt   OS 

Hanna  .....Ut 

Tabemada  of  God   >>> 

Sloth,  tko  a«Blml   


INDEX  447 


Tn  Snuf  Olood  «m  m  Nonnwn  Onrrcn  838 

1  Kara  OF  Tn  Oouor  Bim  .*......*.  888 

IfMBing  of  BtMrMdsMp   888 

Minlatry  ud  h«Dor  ot  W«iHh  841 

VimetloM  «nd  DatlM  U  PiofiwIaM  844 

BMUoh  for  rood  m4  MMtfetag  Mlw  ....*..  ...|8» 

PkiloMpkM^i  Mom   8B» 

Pndlfal  Boo   881 


Prodigal'a  OoafMoa  888 

MMatai  of  tho  Pmbit  888 

Obowr  ot  Wild  Oum  ..*...  884 

Bin  «t  Jndu,— fimft  86T 

Idol  U  BleliM   871 

Waato  and  Vice  of  Botttag   871 

Biehaa  ot  Uauy  and  Chriataaa  881 

Book  «(  OoBMria   885 

OcBMria  oite  of  imk  888 

yfttMu  two  gNspa  ot  MB  884 

Xn  PuAmm  w  BxoLAin   410 

lottkoMoqrofOMMiMily  410 

.  jMNb  846 

Thy  Kiofdoa  Ohm  808 

TiuMSfomtloii.  «C  Miara,  188t  MoMrt  ot  148,  IM. 

Time  ia  Ifonay   880 

Tnix  ARD  Tm  806 

Tlntont'a  gnat  Pletara  ot  Um  Orodfixion  100 

Thomaa  ond  PUUp   888 

Tkaotaur,  BtiidaBia  of  180 

~  '  nHr.  tha  M 

\  it  Ood  ahraj*  *  •  tn 

 44 

Tnaa,  flowoia  aad   ,  881.  828 

Towan  ot  the  BiUo   882 

TougaBlaff  oompua8  wMk  BhHb  ....................*«.....   15 

Tonr,  BoaklB  a   88,  4T 

Traatteqr  «f  hamaii  apMch   420 

TriboMb  tha  Maw  Tofk,  qootad   25 

Ttm  aad  Valaa  twiM   ,  .Ot 

Tnrtk  ui  MMu«  Uta  a  Ba   M 

TNtk  ia 


Vntk,  ot  baraty,  tha,  98;  m  bMMr  vMMt  it  m  Mt  .   

80;  BMal  aaMtblHty  ot  lit  MWrtBii^  ta>  Uf  t  SItt 
aoopa  of  in  art,  281. 

Tma  Art  taatifiaa  God  175 

Tma  Jaatiee  rawarda  Vlitae — Oppoaea  Vice   ITS 

Tma  ManHneaa  286 

Tma  Sdaaoa  bagina  and  aada  In  Love  817 

Tntha.  fteplaat  i^iaetad  IM 

■aUa'a 8nt  Maaea  of,  6;  4magiaatioa  of,  7;  dMntafi of  1 
to  Mttaii,  87:  dataea  of,  77;  daoa  at  life  at. — 


 OB  tha  Ate   M 

Tonar^  Maaaaga  ot  DiTina  Antt  88 

Two-fold  natnra  ot  man  •228 

Typaa  ot  Baaoty  in  Natara  221 


44t  THE  RELIGION  OF  RU8KIN 

r^BCM  and  SlB— Tnith  wid  B«Mt7  

Uiifnitefalims  of  mui  41ft 

CBimI  8tatr«,  Pmidaat  «f,  imaks  Usk  aa  Kia«i,  41;  Boaktn'a  Tiawa  «t  pub- 
lie  nUUtlaa  galoiag  la,  44. 

Unity  ABd  CoaiprakMaiTaMa  «C  M     M 

UbII7.  la  AD  thian  W;  apMtMl.  9T:  a(  ait.  SIS. 

DalTtfw,  natatkoaiabla,  tba   ..*JM 

UaiTanlty,  Boakla  aMni  pnal  af  war  !■»  U. 

Unto  tUa  laat.  wkal  It  Mfftt  ...M,  M 

Unto  Thm  Lxn  Sit 

UauiT.  radical  ogpoaMon  to,  M:  OferiatMa  aad,  ML 

Utopia   48.  aOA. 

Taloak  a  ilaal  dataMaa  al,  SSipawar  of,  M;  aaa  awi*  o(  ten  apatiowa,  B6t 
mt  mtmi  «oL  «f  Medara  MMaaa^  «t  «•  laat  aaL  «(  Mataa  Paltia^ 
MT:  «t  plaaa  a4  pfayar,  UBt  MMalaa*      pavaw  aai  MMTCk  SN{ 

•(  woik,  tka  moral,  279. 

YUaaal  Money  oooaiata  in  ita  Pawor  84S 

▼ahw  of  Baattatota  libarty  aad  Obadlaaca   237 

Value  of  Beriytaio  ia  <ko  Owaawn  Laaiaaaa   US 

Val  D'  Aaao   MT 

Vandyke.  Henry,  on  doubt   BT 

Vanloa  aiaaad  afainat  Uxht  940 

▼aalaa  m»,mt,$A 

Tarlely  la  Matan  M 

Vecetatkm.  traOial.  78 

Vice,  Jnatica  afpaaaa  11^  lUi «(  totttag»  01. 

Villa,  tbe   206 

VUlao  Uilor'a  4riMa  71 

Virgina.  tbe  wiaa  SIS 

ViUl  Beanty.  lovo  and   W 

VMal  power,  what  it  ia  aot  known  to  aeianea  321 

VIrtaa,  jaattea  iaarai4a  It,.  lT4j  tfca  Ajaailaa  «a,.ia«  t>a  aalgto  al  200 

Vlrtaaa,  OardlnaJ  *.....«  »  806 

Voloa.  crying  la  the  Wildai»«ik  BHlte-Ml  *  828 

Voted,  Boakin  aeTar  34 

Vulgarity,  none  in  tmth  117 

'  Weigh  the  worda  of  the  Bible  280 

Wagaa,  atraggla  for   67 

Wavea.  atonea  aad   810 

aad.  tha  W 


War,  aaaata  al   128,  864 

Water,  tiath  al   75 

Waste  and  loea,  man'a  indilfennoe  to  242 

Waate  and  Decay  aa  Dirlne  instmniaati  187 

We  do  not  aee  the  whole  of  anything  U8 

Wealth,  diacoaiioa  of,  86;  Baakin',-.  89;  excited  enquiry,  45;  the  ennobling 

thing  of,  42;  phantaam  of,  292;  raqyoaalbUity  of,  840;  nintotiT  of,  841; 

moral  quaHty  of,  887,  840;  Ufa  and.  849;  amfc  gieatar  thaa.  |88k 

What  Cbriatiaaity  ia  414 

What  foeia  asa  for  889 

What  Ood  glvaa   282 

What  It  meanf  to  Take  op  the  Croaa  406 

What  men  call  Liberty   827 

What  tbe  human  Mind  can  not  do  100 

What  we  D«ed  to  know  of  tha  BiUa  195 

Whiatler  tha  painter,  atoiy  of   17 


WfckMgr  ,  S 

iM»  piMtoM  mmm  

Wh7  NalioM  fall  SO 

Wkjr  th*  Foer  «i*  poav  Mi  IMT  tfev  mm  «tttmmA  ....•......••.*.. ....SU 

Wk7  ttud  idhf   4a 

Wlllani,  fruoM  B.  •....«  I 

WUHuM,  tto  TTlTftinrrT   t 

Wiadea,  70,  286;  of  Ood.  MB;  •(  IwpMt,  818;  l>  PtaVi  80& 

Wtaa  an.  autM  «C   HI 

iMU  Mi.  •(  BMUa   M 

WltMM  fw  M   M 

Woaunhood.  CUMhMi  ud  OkfMUaltj   IH 

Wonuuibood,  th*  NM  4k*  ijrpo  o(  ....••••••••••.•••••HS 

Womni.  MMlof.  18;  •■  •rtlMa,  18;  riglM «t  ttljHHat  aMlW «t  OMM^ 

168;  bnnty  of  raligioa  in.  827;  BIM*  tU. 
Word  ol  Ood.  190;  improrlBg  It,  284. 
Wordsworth,  8,  873 ;  quotAtloiu  fmn,  84,  ISS. 

Wotd-p*lntiafo(  Baakta   88 

Work  grMter  than  W«alth  366 

Work  with  your  Heart  In  it  228 

;  of  Iron  4n  Nature,  Art  and  Policy   SIS 

J  arerybody  muet,  44,  2&2:  faith  in^pirea  for,  108;  of  God'a  handa,  170; 
■ospel  of,  200;  man'a,  Ood'e  interaat  in,  210;  imth  and,  218;  of  man  and 
Ood's  workinf,  228 ;  eaaay  on,  864 ;  Oanaaia  order  of,  886. 

Woikmen,  bones  of   U,  80 

WatM,  Kii^itaBi  H,  t*  Ohtlat   881 

m  •  bMk  «C  tUi  hum  mm  MTt «( i 


Ma  aC,  U;  qootad,  98t. 


Tonnt,  the  poet,  quoted  364 

Tonag  «rtiat%  t»  ............87 

Tooag  giria,  mtttm  t»  SI 

Tmmm  mm,  4a  aaC  M  «(  l*t%9;  BaMiHi  oainari  ta^  Wl. 

tit  ttt  4lMk  ^Mi  to  na  MMMiIi  Mtt  mm^mt 

 4M 

 Ml 

Utt  and  Death  wMhaM  top*   «1T 

Redemption  for  India  ...418 

The  Path  to  Ood  418 

Where  Death  la  419 

ChariMe   419 

The  old  Seaman   420 

Jndfment  Day   421 

Tka  mad  OteitiMM   411 

na  &alar  411 

Wittin  «BaM  ika 


